


The one with a beautiful, sunny day

by Foreign



Series: On a beautiful, sunny day [1]
Category: Friends (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-01-27 07:21:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 44,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21388285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foreign/pseuds/Foreign
Summary: September 11th couldn't have been a sunnier day for New York.Phoebe has a serious feeling that something bad is going to happen, but nobody believes her. Chandler goes to work as usual, Rachel tries to get a promotion. No one in the world expected what would happen on that day.I know this is a controversial and sad subject for people. That's why I don't expect anyone to read it. Most of the facts are true, I presented some situations differently, as I could not find information about them, or they were contradictory. If anyone likes it, please let me know and I will publish the next chapters.
Relationships: Chandler Bing & Phoebe Buffay & Monica Geller & Ross Geller & Rachel Green & Joey Tribbiani, Chandler Bing & Rachel Green, Chandler Bing/Monica Geller, Monica Geller & Joey Tribbiani, Monica Geller & Rachel Green, Phoebe Buffay & Joey Tribbiani
Series: On a beautiful, sunny day [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1541905
Comments: 10
Kudos: 46





	1. The one with a morning

**Author's Note:**

> Rachel and Ross in this story don't have a baby.  
Also my English isn't perfect, but I've been trying to keep up.

Monica opened her sleepy eyes, hitting her alarm clock lightly with her hand. She was lying naked on the bed, wrapped in her husband's hand, still snoring calmly. She sighed with bliss, feeling a light breath of cool air on her back, flying into the room through the open window.  


The last few days, well, two weeks, were a real fire. The sun had no mercy on anyone in New York City, even the special water curtains, which were set on some blocks, only helped a little, as people didn't want to go to work all wet. On that day there was a cooling, expected by probably everyone. She could almost hear Joey in his room sighing happily in his sleep, breathing fresh, cool air, or Phoebe singing in her clothes.  


Chandler freed her from the embrace by turning to the other side, as he used to do. He won't be up for another half hour.  
She threw her legs off the bed, pulling herself out and yawning. She looked at the window a little bit uninvited. There was no cloud in the sky, so there was no rain. Nevertheless, it was cooler and although most people at New York City will probably complain about the lack of rain or wind, she felt great with such weather. The sun was shining, it was bright but not hot; a man could wear a sweater and enjoy the day ahead with a dose of new energy.  


She wore a red robe and slippers as she walked towards the kitchen. She put her coffee in the coffee machine, then set off to the bathroom to refresh herself. Afterwards, she went back to the dining room looking straight at Rachel, dressed and perfectly prepared, reading the newspaper and drinking coffee. She raised her eyebrows in surprise.  


Nobody dared to question the fact that her friend was a beautiful woman who could take care of herself. She always emphasized her beauty and always intimidated other people with her appearance, but this morning she practically radiated with the will to live. Her workout costume was perfectly smooth without a single can of dust or hair on her shoulder, which was difficult to maintain in Joey's home, the hairstyle was styled into a chignon with no strands left, and the make-up was just the finishing touch. Besides, it was seven o'clock in the morning and Rachel usually took a shower at that time or was getting ready to go in for breakfast in her last fifteen minutes before she left for work.  


“Are you okay?” Monica asked, smiling cheerfully.  


Just three days ago, Rachel was sitting on her couch on Saturday night and complaining about Ross, about work, about a client who suddenly wanted tons of panties in Berlin for already. However, she mainly complained about her outfit; the boss forbade her to come to the company with her shoulders open, because it was a serious job. At least the good news was that in every office windmills were placed, which made people tired only when they went out to get something done.  


Such evenings definitely helped them both, Phoebe joined them occasionally mainly because on Saturdays she usually dated or went out with Frank Jr. and she didn't have time. For this reason, they organized extra evenings on other days, when nobody had a greater commitment to work.  


“Um, what? Do I look bad? My lipstick's smudged!?! I knew it would happen!” She said, and her hands immediately went into her handbag, where she held a small mirror. But before she could reach it, Monica quickly waved her head and hands.  


“No, take it easy!” She said, laughing quietly. “It's just that… it's quite morning and today you look different. I mean, not bad, even better than usual. What's the occasion?”  


Rachel smiled sweetly at her compliment, blushing a little at the same time. In her eyes were dancing fires of excitement and happiness, which this morning were outlined more than usual. Monica admitted quietly in her head that she envies her beauty and how she can look pretty even without much effort. Yes, she was pretty too, maybe even beautiful, but Rachel outranked her in that discipline. Green has repeatedly warned her of her stupidity whenever she mentions it. She said then that she was also beautiful, in a few ways even more beautiful, but somehow she couldn't believe it.  


“You'll never guess what happened!” She called. “It's unbelievable! Yesterday, around midnight…”  


“What were you doing at midnight? You said at nine o'clock you were going to bed!” She said, wrinkling her eyebrows at the same time.  


The blonde bit her lip involuntarily, shrugging her shoulders.  


“I went to sleep, really, but then I got hungry, and then Joey heard I was making food and somehow”  


“Okay, I get it.” She said and took her coffee in her hand, looked with a smile at the sandwiches made by her friend. “I don't remember you ever making me breakfast.”  


Of course, it was just a joke. While they were still living together, Rachel used to make breakfast sometimes. They didn't taste so good, but Monica appreciated the little gestures her friend made to make her life more pleasant.  


“Well, I woke up early. . . I thought you'd enjoy it.” She croaked, dropping her eyes on the table top. Monica smiled even more broadly, thanking her and praising the uncomplicated dish.  


“So, what happened at midnight?”  


“I got a call from Ralph Lauren!” She exclaimed excited. Monica squeaked quietly surprised, but before she could say anything, Rachel continued. “At first he apologized for the late call, and then he said that a man of higher rank than me had become extremely ill! And he said he trusts me and asked me if I wouldn't take his job!”  


“What kind of job!?”  


“I'm supposed to be at eight o'clock at the World Trade Center to present a damn important project to some damn important people! If I could convince them, we could sign a very good contract! Ralph also said that if I did a good job, I could get a raise, and if Zelner helped, maybe even a promotion!”  


Her face was radiant and her hands were shaking with nervousness and excitement. Monica put down her coffee cup, grabbing her cool, well-groomed hands in her hands. She stroked her skin with her thumbs, smiling at her broadly. Rachel calmed down a little when she leaned forward and said, with her eyes squinted “You'll be fine, Rach. I believe you're gonna get these guys off their feet! You have a real talent for what you do!”  


Rachel sighed deeply, nodding her head with a smile and gratitude hidden in her eyes.  


“Thank you, Monica.” She whispered and took a look at the watch. “I'll be out in half an hour. What are you doing today?”  


“Besides keeping my thumbs crossed for you?” She laughed, letting go of her hands and going back to consuming pretty good sandwiches. “I'm gonna go to work at 9:30, I'm gonna sit there for seven, eight hours, and I'm gonna cook, chase people away, try to keep up with losers, that sort of thing. But enough about me, you're having an amazing day!” She exclaimed. “Which tower will you be in?”  


“North. I've only been there once, in this wonderful restaurant…”  


“Oh, I was in it! The food is delicious and it's a sight to see! I mean, it’s so…”  


“Magic.” Rachel finished with a slight smile. “I'll be on the 84th floor, and with this weather I'm sure I'll have a wonderful view of the panorama!”  


“You'd better focus on your work, not the panorama.” Monica snorted. “If everything goes well, maybe we'll go to the observation deck of the second tower tomorrow?”  


Her bedroom door opened, revealing the disheveled, yawning Chandler. He widened his eyes a little bit in surprise, noticing Rachel fully ready at the table, but he did not comment on it, heading for the bathroom. Monica will probably explain everything to him later, and for this moment he really needed a shower.  


“Good morning.” He hoarsely greeted, disappearing behind the door of the toilet, leaving the women in complete silence. For a few minutes they talked about the begging weather change, and about Chandler sitting in the bathroom for a long time and Monica not being able to use the toilet, and about Joey probably occupying the other one. Finally, the front door opened and Phoebe, a little exhausted and pale, stood there.  


“What's the matter?” Rachel asked quickly, trying to get up from the chair. Buffay's tough hand put her back in place, and the woman sat next to her.  


“I have a bad feeling about today.” She finally said. “Very bad. I didn't feel anything so horrible even before my mother's suicide, or before my friend tried to kill me at the junkyard. Neither before I got a key ring from Sesame Street, although I took into account in my letter that I do not own a house, that is also the keys. Or before I…  


“Sweetheart, we understand.” She was gently interrupted by Monica. “Maybe you ate something old? Or slept badly?”  


“No, no!” She almost screamed, a little angry, or maybe scared. “I'm sure it's one of those feelings when there's always something going on after…” She whispered, swallowing saliva and looking at the table.  


“Well, I don't think I'm gonna get that promotion.” Rachel quietly joke. Unexpectedly, Phoebe hit the table with her fist, making two women jump up and down in fear, looking at her friend's serious face.  


“Don't laugh at it! I'm really scared that something's gonna happen to you!”  


“What's going to happen to who?” Chandler asked calmly when he left the bathroom. Monica almost immediately went to it. Chandler looked at her with a charming smile.  


“Phoebe had a feeling.” Rachel explained it to him by raising her eyebrows ridiculously. Buffay tightened her lips, breathing deeply.  


“Rachel Karen Green, don't make fun of me! I still have this feeling, you don't even know how scared I am!”  


“Relax, Pheebs, I think we're in no danger.” Bing sighed, turning on the TV. Just a few seconds later some morning news appeared, and a fat man with a pretty blonde admired just over the pleasant weather.  


“I hope you're right.” She answered sluggishly, looking at the rest of the coffee. “You know, I think I'm gonna go home now.”  


“You just got here!” Rachel said nervously. “Look, I'm sorry I made a little fun of you. I promise I'll take care of myself, Chandler and the rest of us, too.” She stroke her shoulder. “I have to go to work now.”  


“So early?” Bing picked up his eyebrows.  


“Uh, Monica will explain, I can't be late.” She said taking her purse from the back of the chair. “Wish me luck!”  


“Duh, good luck in…” Chandler shrugged his shoulders, drinking coffee like every morning. “Anything.”  


“Just take care of yourself!” Phoebe yelled for her.  


Suddenly, they screamed out of the toilet. Chandler ran to the door almost immediately, knocking fast, with fear.  


“Honey? What happened?” He asked. The door opened, revealing a furious Monica, holding a shower curtain in her hand.  


“It broke off!” She called out frustrated. Her husband laughed with sarcasm, squinting his eyes.  


“Maybe you had a feeling about that, Pheebs.” He laughed. She shrugged her shoulders at.  


“Maybe” She answered.  


Chandler took over curtain from Monica, politely going to hang it up. Monica sounded the TV and reached for her sandwich, which she could not feel at hand. She turned to her surprised friend.  


“Yours? Sorry, delicious” Phoebe burst. Monica looked at the plate with the ham stretched out on it.  


“What are you gonna do with that meat?” She snorted evil.  


“I'll give it to Joey.” She moved her shoulders with a smile. The black-haired woman sighed only quickly, realizing that Rachel had already gone to work. She grabbed a cup of coffee and started to drink it. Yes, it wasn't as good as the Central Perk’s, but they couldn't spend so much money on coffee; they bought each other a cup or two every day. A lot of money went into it, but they had to save a little bit of money, at least for rent.  


_“Today we have 80*F, the highest temperature is 85*F, the lowest is 79*F. Due to the light, cool wind, the perceptible temperature does not exceed 80*F.” _The presenter smiled at the camera. _“Let's rest on this sunny day!”_  


“It's a pity that the heat will blow up in my face every few seconds while I'm standing by the pots in the restaurant.” Monica moaned. Her husband just got out of the bathroom. “Chandler, are we going for a walk tonight?”  


“I think it's gonna be too cold for a walk tonight, honey.” He said and smiled lightly. “We can watch some movies, and then…” He approached her slowly, depositing an almost undetectable, sweet kiss on her lips. The black-haired woman smiled, giving it back.  


“Find yourselves a room!” Phoebe snorted as she approached the couch. She sat on it, switching to another channel. Chandler almost immediately reacted, bypassing Monica and trying to take the pilot from the blonde's hand.  


“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!” He called.  


“Oh, that TV sucks!” She screamed as if it were logical.  


“It doesn't suck!” He purrs insulted, correcting the glasses on his nose. He looked at her for a few more seconds, but realizing that Phoebe was so keen to ignore him, he snorted while going to the kitchen to get a newspaper.  


“You guys don't happen to have a job, do you?” Monica asked when she sat down in the chair. The blonde woman looked at her and shrugged her shoulders.  


“My first and last client on that day is due to come to my house at 5:00 p. m.”  


“I'll be out in 20 minutes.” A man sighed hard. “Why, are you trying to drive me out?”  


Monica rolled her eyes, taking Phoebe's remote control and making the TV louder. Meanwhile, Joey said hello when he entered the room. In his hand he held a huge sandwich, from which, to Monica's horror, thousands of crumbs were being poured.  


“Oh, my God, if you don't lean over a plate right now, I swear I'll never make you food!” She said.  


“Come on, Mon!” He cried out miserably. However, he bent under her hard eyes, taking a tray of Rachel's already eaten sandwiches in his hand.  


“Does anyone know why Ross isn't at breakfast today?” Chandler asked unwittingly, reading the front page of the newspaper. Monica looked in her direction and read the news superficially.  


“He had to take Ben to school for an earlier hour, probably went to work right away.” Suddenly, she's breathing air. “Bob Dylan has released another album! And Jennifer Lopez's song is still on the top of the charts!”  


“She deserved it.” Chandler confirmed by nodding his head. “Although I hear this song practically all the time and I've had enough of it.”  


“It's not my type.” Joey smiled, taking a monstrous piece of sandwich in his mouth. Before he was able to swallow the tip, he had enough time to say something else. “But Jennifer herself. Mmmm, she's fine.”  


“Sometimes you're really gross.”  


“Hey, Rachel's not complaining!” He screamed wounded. “Chan-Chan men didn't do it either!” Chandler, hearing how his friend called him, lifted his head up, raising his eyebrows the second time that day.  


“Chan-Chan men? You haven't mentioned it in a year and a half and now it's come to you?”  


Joey shrugged his shoulders when he finished his sandwich. It's been a while, Monica washed the dishes, her husband went to work, Phoebe and Tribbiani were arguing over their favorite song Jennifer Lopez.  


The black-haired woman entered the bedroom, changed her clothes and made sure she didn't look bad. She looked at the watch and sighed. 8:45 a. m.. She seemed to have had fifteen more minutes, but it wasn't enough time for cleaning and not enough for starting a new conversation. She twisted her head coming out of the bedroom.  


Boom.  


Everyone heard a bang so loud and so painful in their ears that they jumped up and shouted briefly, covering their heads. For literally a moment she thought that it was the gas that exploded in the building, but later she heard another tubular, powerful sound, like a crack of glass. The horns of cars did not drown out this powerful sound, the screams of people in the building were of no use either.  


“What's going on?” Scared Joey asked loudly, getting up from the couch. Phoebe started walking around the room holding tightly to her head, while Monica jumped quickly to the window.  


The buildings were blocking her entire field of vision. The only thing she was able to notice among the tall buildings was the grey, almost white smoke floating through the clouds upwards. She spread her eyes in horror by combing her hair with shaking hands.  


“Something exploded” She said brief. “Something big.”  


Joey approached her with a quick, nervous step, also looking at the white clouds. He swallowed his saliva loudly, turning his eyes away from the window. Phoebe continued to walk around the living room and kitchen, but this time she whispered something panicky.  


“Gas. Probably gas in some building, that's all.” He repulsed the force calmly, drawing Monika to himself involuntarily.  


“Are you sure the gas would cause so much smoke?” She asked, but he just shrugged his shoulders.  


“If something went up in flames, I'm sure it was.” It calmed down Monica a little bit, when she turned away from the glass. She approached Phoebe, stopping her between the table and the couch and taking her hands off her face. The blonde raised her head, showing Monica blushing from her nervous cheeks.  


“I told you, I told you something was gonna happen!” She said in a raised voice. “My nails didn't grow, the tea at home didn't spin in the orbit of the ellipsis but the spiral, and my clothes weren't shaded, only sunshine!”  


“Don't worry, it's just…”  


The television made a deafening roar of news, interrupting the report on San Francisco's water consumption. All three of them came to the couch in terror. The red background of the screen shows a camera image directed directly at the World Trade Center. The northern tower expelled giant clouds of grey smoke. Monica, at first unbelieving in what she saw, fell almost to her knees.  


_“What you see now is certainly a major shock.”_ Said a calm, but a little trembling voice of a woman. _“The northern tower of the World Trade Center was hit by an airplane just a moment ago. It is highly likely to be an American Airlines flight number 11 machine with registration numbers N334AAA. Boeing 767.”_  


When Monica heard that, her legs broke down under her. She held the couch on her hands, almost immediately headed for the seat. Phoebe turned her back on the TV, hiding her face in her hands again, and Joey still couldn't believe it.  


_“It is estimated that the plane struck between 94 and 98 floors…”_   


The black-haired woman moaned loudly, her heart chapped her, and her hands began to shake without her control.  


“God, God, God, God…” She was whispering to herself all the time. There was Rachel in that building!  


As soon as she realized it, she felt a strong vomiting reflex. She ran blindly to the toilet, pushing the frozen Joey away, and without even closing the door, she vomited into the toilet bowl. There were tears on her cheeks, but neither Joey nor Phoebe probably realized why she was experiencing it so much. Buffay followed her, taking black hair in her hand.  


“Is everything okay” She asked quietly. Monika seemed it sarcastic; it was as if her best friend wasn't on a high floor in a burning building.  


She whined at the very thought of crying and threw up again. She didn't want to, she couldn't think about it. She moved away from the toilet, taking a cup of water handed to her hand by Joey. She spat it out and then closed her eyes tightly.  


“Ra-achel is the-re…”Her voice collapsed and her urge to vomit came back almost immediately. Phoebe sort of wanted to say something, but only widened her eyes panicked. Tribbiani took a few steps back.  


“What?” Joey whispered. She nodded her head when she fell into Phoebe's arms. Monica hugged her as much as she could to feel any better, but the blonde didn't even react to it. She was kneeling still, looking into the wall. Just below the block there were at least five fire brigades and a couple of police cars, making noise with their signals.  


The phone rang in the living room. It drowned out the commentator explaining what people can see on the screen.  


After a few seconds, Joey woke up, approaching to it nervously and answering the phone.  


**“Monica? Monica!?”** Called Chandler.  


“It's me, Joe” He was purring tense. “Monica didn't go to work, she's with us.”  


**“Oh, thank God!”** He breathed out loud. **“Please, put her on the phone.”**  


“Monica, this is Chandler. He wants to talk to you.” He communicated and putting the phone on the table, taking care of Phoebe when the black-haired woman took the transmitter in her hand.  


**“Monica?”** She blurred something vaguely to confirm it. **“Look, don't go anywhere. I'm gonna call Ross and Rachel and have them come over, and we're gonna wait this out.”**  


“Rachel's in there.” She whispered with crying. “She’s ten floors down, Chandler!” She wiped her face smudging tears and makeup. Her hands were shaking so much that her phone almost fell out of one, she couldn't control it.  


**“Oh, my God. Oh, my God!”** She heard his voice. The silence lasted for a few seconds until he finally spoke. **“Look, there's something going on here. They're closing the streets, there's an evacuation…” **  


**“Run! Run!”** Somebody shouted on the phone. A dose of new terror entered her body when she heard that.  


**“Wha…”** Her husband started, but then the connection was broken. She put her phone down with dullness, sitting next to the table, on the ground. She sighed deeply, but as soon as she remembered what he had said, she moaned pathetically, painfully.  


Chandler's work may not have been next to the World Trade Center, but it was only a few blocks away. What if he was in danger too? She screamed quietly, crying.  


Joey put Phoebe on her feet, leading her to the dining room. He gave her water, and when he wanted to put Monica on the chair, she knocked his hands away.  


“Chandler's being evacuated. I don't know what's going on, it's disconnected us.” She explained it by looking into the ground. Joey straightened out, and his eyes were sad.  


“He's fine.” He said with a trembling voice. “We laugh at him a lot, but he's a strong guy, Mon. It's just an evacuation, everything's under control.”  


_“Our journalist has already arrived at the scene.”_ A woman on TV start talking. And indeed, a few seconds later, the picture from the camera from the Northern tower appeared on the television. Monica almost immediately publicized the show.  


Everyone watched as if they were enchanted by the TV. Many people escaped from the building with the fire brigade escort, screams, requests for help and sirens of rescue vehicles could be heard. The police were screaming all the time and ordered people to run in the opposite direction from the skyscraper, the next firemen entered the building. Chaos. It was the only way to describe it.  


Monica cried as she tried to spot Rachel's familiar face in the crowd of running people. She didn't find it.  


So far, the bright blue sky has been brutally crushed by a gray-black cloud of smoke, which is taking over more and more of the city. Birds flew whole groups in different directions, almost like the people under them, escaping wherever the wind carried them.  


_“What's going on in there? Which floor are you from?”_ Reporter asked, following one man. The black-haired man stopped and repaired his glasses in which he had no glasses. On his face and there was black soot, his clothes were half burnt and half torn.  


_“I'm from the fourth.”_ He answered, there was fear in his voice. _“Fire everywhere. Something hit the building, something flammable flowed down to the lower floors… You can't breathe there, the fire is literally digesting everything, the one who didn't come out right away won't come out.”_ He wanted to leave, but the reporter still kept him.  


_“And you know what happens on the upper floors? How many of you survived?”_   


_“Evacuation is slow. It's been a few minutes, but people are already dying of smoke poisoning, some are crushed by cabinets or parts of walls. From what I noticed, six people came out of my floor, maybe more, but people keep coming out. I'm afraid it's much worse on the upper floors.”_ He started to look around in distraction, waving his hand and shaking his head. _“Leave me alone”_ He said harshly.  


And he ran away. And Monica cried into the pillow, squeezing it with all her might. The phone rang again. She jumped up, quickly picking up the phone, hoping that Chandler would magically call her, or maybe Rachel left the meeting earlier, returning home.  


**“Hello? Hello?”** Asked a nervous, male voice. **“Monica? Anybody?”** He was drowned out by the siren of some car and the screams of a policeman.  


“Ross! Ross!” She screamed. “Ross, where are you? Come to us!”  


**“I can't, I'm with Ben.”** He answered by sighing. **“Look, I just wanted to make sure you were safe. I'm at an apartment with Susan, Carol's not answering her phone, and you understand… I have to stay. Be calm, everything’s fine.”**  


“Yeah, I get it.” She whispered nervously. “ But Chandler is being evacuated from work, I'm afraid for him.”  


**“Monica, evacuation is most welcome in this situation.”** He said quickly. **“I'm sure he'll be here in an hour or two, they're about to close the streets, so he'll probably be back on foot with some detours.”** She nodded her head, biting her lip and stopping crying. **“How are the others? Is Rachel coming home from work too?”**  


Monica swallowed her saliva, shaking her head vigorously, which, of course, her brother could not see.  


“She's…” She started, but then she heard Phoebe screaming, looking at the TV. She looked at it. The connection broke down.  


Another plane flew at an incredible speed to the second tower. Commentators also shouted when he hit the side of the building, causing another, maybe even bigger, explosion. They heard a bang as if late, more and more screams from neighbors and even people on the street, broken glass and sirens of vehicles going to the centrum. In the camera could see pieces of walls, or something else, falling to the ground.  


“It's, uh… Was it an assassination attempt?” She asked quietly, not believing it. One more plane could hardly be taken for an accident, but two planes in two towers? Phoebe got up violently going out of the window onto the balcony and looking at the black, whirling smoke.  


Then Buffay unexpectedly left the apartment, leaving the door open. Joey called out after her, following in Monica's footsteps, but as she climbed the stairs higher and higher, black-haired people were afraid. Bigger than ever before.  


“It's my fault! “ Suddenly the blonde said, opening the entrance to the roof. “I could have told her not to leave the house. Her and Chandler's! I mean… I knew something was wrong…”  


No one commented on what she said. They were too preoccupied with what was on their horizon.  


There was a view of many smaller or same height buildings around them. There were also people on the roofs of some of them, watching with horror what was happening a few miles away. The World Trade Center was on fire. It looked so untrue that Monica had to wipe her sorrowful eyes. Some of the highest towers in the world emitted smoke like power plant chimneys.  


The man in the interview said that the fire with incredible speed descended to the lower floors. That people burn, that they die running away. How did it have to look higher? From there, from where the plane hit and above, there was no escape.  


“And now, because of me, Rachel's there.” She said quietly, looking at the buildings with no expression.  


Monica wanted to confirm that. Apart from her great regret, sadness, disbelief and panic, she felt furious. She wanted to blame someone, and the closest person was Phoebe. But she knew it wasn't okay; the blonde couldn't predict a total disaster, she couldn't predict an assassination attempt. She couldn't have known that so many people would die.  


“It's not your fault.” Joey told shallow, shaking all over. “We should get out of here. I don't want to see it.”  


“You, uh... You're right.” Monica knew she was gonna be watching TV with a lot of tension. Maybe they can find Rachel somewhere, maybe... Maybe she'll be fine.  


She put her hand to her mouth trying not to cry. Without looking at the other two, she returned to the apartment, sitting on the couch and watching TV. People ran, screamed, begged for help. They explained to the camera that there was fire everywhere, that people died from the smoke, and that sometimes the tower moved dangerously. When Monica heard it, she felt a big headache. The elevators didn't work, there was only one exit left in the stairwell. People were dying all the time, Rachel had to overcome 84 floors, if at all she managed to get out of the office on time.  


Ross was at Susan's even though she needed him so badly. On the other hand, maybe she shouldn't be so nervous, he should calm down her ex-wife's lover, Monica would be fine. After a while, she shakes her head. After all, Susan and Ross had a bond – Ben, and fear of Carol.  


“Phoebe” Monica said. The blonde woman walked slowly to the couch, sitting next to her, and Monica attracted her to a strong embrace, full of fear and anxiety. She hugged her like a big bear and, this time, the Buffay gave her a hug. Soon Joey joined them.  


_“Fortunately, the evacuation of the southern tower began at the same time as the northern tower. Thanks to this, some people have already managed to escape to a safe place.”_ Said the reporter, standing under two skyscrapers.  


But it didn't give Rachel an extra chance, she told herself in her head.  


Something was dragging her into the buildings. With great difficulty she refrained from going out and running to the skyscrapers to look for her friend among the survivors. But she couldn't afford it; damn it, she was really scared. Besides, Chandler would probably murder her.  


_“Hello, excuse me!”_ Reporter called out to some woman. She was a disheveled cloakroom, with her eyes probably looking for a phone booth, anything. _“What's going on in there? Which building are you from?”_ The woman swallowed saliva and tears came down her face.  


_“From the north, fifteenth floor.”_ She said. _“There's a horror upstairs, you can only imagine what's on the top floors. I don't know why we deserve this.!”_ She screamed, blurring tears on her face. _“People walk at a fast pace, talk little, because you can't breathe at all. There's a fire burning everywhere, everything is…”_  


Monica kept it down a little bit, not being able to listen to it. So many innocent people have just fought for their lives. What did they do to get this kind of punishment? That they were on fire, that they were crushed by something, that they were suffocating?  


The three of them were watching TV with fear as something strongly accelerating in the background of the camera hit the ground with an audible crack.  


“What the hell was that?” Joey asked quietly.  


_“Guys!”_ The man behind the camera screamed. The TV has been re-publicized. _“People jump out the windows!”_  


And that was too much for her. Monica ran to vomit again.


	2. The one with the beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rachel's up for promotion and she doesn't know what to expect. What if he makes a mistake? What if he gets dirty with a pen, like he used to? What if she does not understand half of what this damn important man, on whom her future at work depended, will say?
> 
> But what if he hears an explosion all of a sudden?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this! Hope you like it too!  
The next part will focus on Chandler :)  
I would like to remind you that I do not speak English fluently, but I try very hard not to make mistakes.

She was allowed to enjoy a beautiful view for no more than five minutes, when a man of about forty years old with graying hair appeared in a huge room. He smiled at her kindly, which, of course, she reciprocated. 

He had brown, calm eyes and a black suit that perfectly matched his body. They shake hands tightly, she still remembers Phoebe once praising her handshake, and then they sat down at one of hundreds of desks, right next to the windows with a beautiful view.  


“My name is Stephen Guiltymeer and I will be discussing with you the contract proposed by Ralph Lauren to secure a higher cash flow.”  


“That's right.” She smiled when she lay down her tiny purse on her knees. The man watched her carefully all the time and for a moment she felt fear; did she get dirty somewhere? She bit her lip, which the man laughed at.  


“Please forgive my eyesight.” He winked at her kindly. “Ralph told me that instead of Lucas, the so-called Rachel Green would come. I was surprised, however, that you are so young, and yet you are certainly talented, since you have been chosen for this task.” Rachel couldn't control a slight blush, so she just smiled and nodded her head.  


“Thank you very much.” Stephen straightened up a bit, sighing and looking at the window. Indeed, such a beautiful, long-awaited weather was to be wasted on sitting at work. But no one could help it.  


“Well, let's not waste time, then. Let's move on to business.” She agreed with him by taking out various papers. Her hands were a little shaky, but she felt confident in herself. Well, Ralph Lauren called her himself, she must have been good!  


It's been a couple of minutes since she thought everything was going well. She stunned herself a few times by reading the diagrams at the angle of her eye, and several times Stephen wanted to be sure about something, but overall it wasn't going badly.  


“Of course, you'd have to prepare a special plane or ferry…”  


“Would that be a huge cost, or would we have an advantageous income? A lot of people don't realize how much money they need to spend on such transport.”  


She bit her lip nervously, nodding and giving him one of the copies of the papers.  


“As you can see on the table, the profits would be huge even with such a quantity of clothes and with such a payment. Mr. Lauren guaranteed that the plane would not have cost so much, because the price quoted here is excessive, in case of any problems.”  


“Okay, but did any shops in Europe ask for such a flow of goods? Are we doing this for them?”  


“A couple of shops have taken a sincere interest and sent us e-mails with requests.” She started by looking through a pile of cards, and finally pulled out one of them. “Others, on the other hand, mentioned the fact that our products run out quickly, which can be directly combined with…”  


“…willing to buy more.” Stephen followed her with a warm smile. She nodded her head and returned the gesture. “Okay, now that we've established…”  


He interrupted in the middle of his sentence, wrinkling his eyebrows. Rachel also looked around like most of the people in the office, hearing an unnatural noise. She associated it with the loud sound of a broken washing machine when she was doing laundry with Monica about seven years ago and something went wrong, so they had to buy another machine for the laundry. Well, she was pretty scared that day, but now she and Monica are remembering it with laughter.  


The sound became louder and louder, and thus more and more disturbing. Green moved around in a chair and turned her head backwards for a moment to see what other people were doing; but mostly they looked out the windows, some people didn't even look worried. So she thought it couldn't be bad and as if nothing had happened, she moved her shoulders and looked forward to seeing Guiltymeer.  


The man, however, bit his lip nervously, tapping his fingers at the top of his desk and looking at something above it.  


“It's the air-conditioning problems again! God, I think I'm gonna kill myself over this shit someday!!” One man called out, waving his hand to his friend on the other side of the desk.  


“It's been fixed lately, what did they have to screw up this time?” He noticed it by putting the rest of the people, including her, in dismay.  


This behavior did not last long - it was difficult for her to understand what was going on, but in one moment, completely suddenly, something exploded over them. She covered her head and ears, bending down as low as she could sit. She screamed frightened, completely unaware of what was happening, but at some point, maybe even at the same second as the explosion, she felt a piercing pain in both ears and one leg. She screamed louder, afraid to open her eyes at all.  


All she could hear was the noise and some strange squeaks. When someone pulled her by the shoulder, she could barely hear his screams, and everything was happening to her as if in slow motion. Being painfully pulled up, she looked around the beautiful office again. Everywhere she looked, there were some papers and glass. Several chairs were knocked over and people were running in one direction. Something was leaking from the ceiling. Everyone, without exception, looked as if they were screaming - she could not hear it.  


It occurred to her that it was probably the gas that exploded a few floors above and she was terrified. Still, she wasn't able to focus on anything. She was kind of dumb, barely moving and incomprehensible, like some child looking at Disneyland. Only she wasn't thrilled here, but completely shocked.  


Somebody pulled her aside. She hit a desk with her leg, almost tripped over a chair, but she didn't look from the rest of the office for a moment. All people were running in the same direction as she was led, and she was able to find some lying women and men. She impulsively wanted to approach them, but then she was brutally thrown into the stairwell, and the last thing she saw in a big room was a sudden, huge and terrifying fire that swallowed up every desk, every paper and every lying person.  


The flame really came out of nowhere. Suddenly there was an orange, glowing wall of flames. She thought it was unrealistic. It was exactly as it was on the barbecue with her friends when she was in high school. Chip poured then gasoline over the campfire, which was set on fire to the canister and barely other colleague saved them. It was a youthful adventure for her then, something funny. Now, when she looked at the flames absorbing the whole room, almost reaching the staircase which was closed behind the person following her, she was terrified. She couldn't hear anything but a squeal. Her head hurt, and the man behind her continued to push her down the stairs, clearly terrified.  


She's never seen such a fire in her whole life. She's never felt so lonely, frightened and helpless in her entire life as she does now.  


This slightly sobered her up, but before she managed to at least twist her head to see what happened in the room, she was pushed deeper into a narrow, lighted with yellow, barely working light staircase. She swallowed saliva as she looked under her feet and soon noticed that they sometimes run through a pair of steps and sometimes stop for even a few seconds; then she felt some kind of stabbing in the back of impatient people.  


But she still didn't really realize what was happening. She simply walked down, practically without thinking about anything, just looking at the black jacket of some woman in front of her. All she could hear all the time was kind of strange hum. Unintentionally, her trembling hand went to her left ear, touching it lightly.  


She immediately sensed a liquid, and when she put her hand in front of her face, she noticed a red, vivid color that was extremely striking on her pale hand. Rachel looked behind her as if she was looking for help, but she only noticed a man calling on the phone. There was also fear on his face, and his lips moved so fast that he could not tell what he was saying.  


Later, like a precisely fired bullet, it came to her that she really couldn't hear. At least she didn't hear anything but a disturbing murmur. She breathed in the air suddenly, but nobody paid much attention to her; everyone called somewhere, everyone spoke to someone. She looked behind her in search of Stephen, seeing him only about five or six people behind her; looking straight into her eyes with a steadfast gaze, as if commanding; go on, don't worry.  


But she couldn't walk without worrying; damn it, she didn't even know what was going on! How could she be calm in that case? No listening, no phone. . . She spread her eyes in a sudden flash, taking her phone out of her trouser pocket. She didn't know how she could call without hearing anything, but with her lip bite she dialed her first contact number when looking at the display.  


For a few seconds it was dialing, then connecting and talking. She put the phone to her ear, paying special attention to the steps under her feet and realized how difficult it was to say anything without hearing anything.  


“Monica, I have no idea what's going on.” She said, at last in her thoughts, quite quietly. Not hearing the words she was pronouncing caused her to panic. Because after all, what did she really say?  


“Monica, I'm so scared, I can't hear anything, there's some kind of evacuation going on. Oh, God, I don't even know what to say now, I'm just going down the stairs and I hope I can get out of here. You know, I don't care about this promotion. I will try to come home as soon as possible. I love you hon, remember this.”  


She wasn't sure why she added the last part, but given the annoyance on the faces of all the people she saw, she felt that nothing good was happening.  


She hung up and put her cell phone in her pants, hoping Monica could hear her message. There was a possibility that Monica even said something to her, but she sincerely hoped it wasn't so. She grabbed the railing and walked down with a huge number of people, feeling more and more clearly some strange smell, reminiscent of burnt hamburger, which sometimes Joey and Chandler prepared on the balcony of her old apartment. Her legs hurt from constant walking, but she still felt as if she was in shock; some single thoughts were squeezed through her mind, immediately becoming pure, ordinary emptiness.  


Her eyes were tearful. She thought Phoebe was right about the dangerous events this morning, but hey, the gas couldn't be that dangerous! It was a World Trade Center tower, specially adapted to any type of malfunction. Everything should be fine, just go down, go home and forget it. She fucked this promotion; she didn't even give a shit about every next one of them, she doubted whether she'd come back to this building after what was happening now.  


After some time, probably quite short, someone pushed her hard forward. She bumped into another woman looking at her with amazed eyes, but she didn't even focus on her face as she turned backwards looking at the man. It took her a while to realize that he passed out in the middle of the stairs, hitting his head on the edge of one of the stairs, quickly covered with blood.  


She looked at it with dilated pupils in fear. She even had to crouch to help the man in any way she could when the next one pushed her down the stairs for the rest of the way. She really didn't understand what he was saying to her, but he was pointing her all the time to go down.  


But why? What the hell really happened? Since they did not help one, quite skinny man, some great desire to escape must have lasted; she began to have the impression that something more serious than a simple gas explosion had happened.  


With tears in her eyes, turning her head a few more times and looking at a man lying, pushed against the wall, she went on. She knew that he would probably have had problems getting up anyway; his head was bleeding heavily, and if she wasn't wrong, it was from his temple.  


Nevertheless, she was terrified by this strange indifference, or unusual fear; she leaned more towards the latter, it was more understandable and human. But this guy called someone before, just like she did. What if it was his family who's scared to wait for him to come home?  


She covered her bloody hand with her mouth, immediately remembering her ear problem. It was terrible to walk without hearing her own steps, but the stairs were long enough to allow her to set her feet on them. The worse question was how narrow they were, how claustrophobic the whole frame was.  


The scarier thing, however, was the silence around her.  


Fuck, she didn't hear anything! It's been a couple of minutes, but only at that moment she did understand the seriousness of it. Walking in total silence, she paid more attention to the fear on the faces of all those who walked with her, and she also realized that the situation was much more serious than she had initially thought.  


After some time the terrible, even suffocating smell intensified to such an extent that some of them covered their noses and mouths with clothes. Her heart was beating so fast, that she had an impression that she was about to tear her chest apart, her hands were shaking when she took off her jacket to cover her mouth, and her eyes were tearing uncontrollably like never before in her entire life.  


Quiet. Infinite silence, even without noise or squeal, in which she immersed herself further and deeper.  


Her body was shaken by seizures. She was so fucking scared, she was so fucking scared! She had no idea what was going on, her ears were bleeding, she didn't know anyone. She was certainly headed for the exit, but she still owed it to a man whom she knew only his name and surname. Her legs hurt more and more, not just her feet.  


As time went by, she became breathless, but when she wanted to take more air into her lungs, she choked on the powerful stench of burning, which gave her a headache. She started to feel dizzy at all, she didn't know whether it was because of the thickening smoke or maybe because of the terrible awareness that more and more people were passing by, unconscious or even dead.  


When she had to jump over the gray old man's hand again, she started to panic. In her body, blood was storming when she slowed her step slightly, unable to catch her breath, and in her leg something stabbed. She went down the floor below and stood against the wall next to the door to the office, from which no one left. A woman, probably a bodyguard, looked at her intensely and said something, but she could not understand what she was doing; she was losing the feeling in her body.  


She fell to the floor, tears were coming out of her eyes. She couldn't breathe through her jacket because the smell of burning was too powerful even then. Her eyes pinched her from the smoke, her legs couldn't lift her, and her head was pulsating with blunt pain.  


The woman moved her shoulder, but she didn't pay attention to her. She thought, the woman started saying something, and then she felt a sharp jerk. She moaned surprised and intoxicated, if she can call it that, looking at Stephen's face, holding her now in his arms and carrying her down the stairs. She could not see the expression on his face; he had a scarf tied up on his nose and mouth, yet his eyes were warm, a little stressed, smiling at her.  


She didn't have the strength to do anything or say anything. She only noticed that now they were walking much faster than before, except when they missed lying people. As soon as she realized this, she swallowed her saliva and stabbed her exhausted eyes in the ceiling. God, what was going on here? Why was that happening?  


Moment later, unexpectedly, everything shaken, the people approached the wall, and Rachel herself was strongly embraced by the shoulders of the man squatting in the corner of the staircase. The light disappeared for a moment, blinking and reappearing. Looking scared at people, she could tell they were screaming. She was afraid to squeal at all, so she only looked at everyone violently and everything.  


This behavior stopped after a few seconds. For a few moments people were still limping, finally getting up and walking, maybe a little more quickly and nervously than before. Dust was falling down on them from the ceiling, covering their hair and faces, causing them to panic even more in Rachel's deaf ears. After a few or a dozen minutes, everything went back to normal. However, this did not change the fact that she was terrified. Terrified and completely tired.  


It quickly became clear to her that she should not fall asleep in such a state. Monica had told her many times, she did not know whether, out of great love for her or fear that she was not properly educated in these subjects, that in life she could not go to bed in dangerous situations for her health, where there was gas or smoke, where she bled out, where there was no medical help.  


_“And I don't give a shit how bad you feel.”_ She heard her serious, tireless voice in her head. _“And how awful it would make you want to sleep. I'd kill you if you did.”_  


Monica sometimes underestimated her, at least that's the impression she made. It was as if she thought she couldn't do most of the work, or didn't know the basic rules in the basic areas, including safety.  


_“Oh, Mon.”_ She responded with a minimal smile on her face. _“How would you kill a dead person?”_  


She remembered that that evening ended with drinking wine and sitting next to each other, mainly remembering some stupid situations from work. In the eyes of her friend, however, she saw an extremely rare seriousness. It made her remember her words until now.  


In her heart she knew that Monica reminded her of it at the time because she was terribly afraid for her. And she had every reason to be afraid, after all, she wasn't always careful. At that time, however, she was pleased with how much she was worried about her and felt sorry for not telling her something similar. But damn it, how could she know what's gonna happen in the future?  


She barely kept her eyelids open. She tried to focus, count the barely working lamps on the ceiling or Stephen's steps, but she wasn't able to. She was lying inertly in his arms, barely able to hold her jacket on her face at all, but the more smoke she breathed in, the worse she felt. She had the impression that the world was swirling and the whole building was dancing with it.  


Silent. She couldn't hear anything but the overpowering sound of a fast heartbeat. Her fingers tingled like one part of her thigh. However, the pain in her leg was getting stronger and stronger, becoming at least unbearable.  


_“Okay, I know you won't remember for nothing in the world where there's anything in this house.”_ Monica told her. Suddenly she saw her face in front of her, Phoebe was hanging around in the back eating some cake and Ross cutting himself another piece of cake. _“But at least remember where the first aid kit is!”  
_

That morning, Monica went to Washington for a couple of days and for the first time was to leave her alone at home for five nights. For Rachel it wasn't a problem, for Monica it was the opposite. She could barely imagine the dirt she'd find when she came back, even though she assured her that she'd keep order.  


_“Monica, I know perfectly well that it's in the locker!” She called out with a remorse, wrinkling her eyebrows. Geller straightened up and put her arms on her hips.  
_

_"**Which** locker?”_ She asked her and Rachel answered only because Ross had pointed out one of them with a cake knife. That's when Monica said goodbye and went away anxiously.  


She smiled weakly at that memory. That day she got a harsh bastard for not watering flowers and not washing dishes. She simply forgot about plants in the world, but she simply hated washing with a pure heart. Now, if only it had guaranteed her a seat in the living room, she'd have washed them about a hundred.  


She closed her eyes, not having the strength to keep them open. As soon as she didn't open the door for a few seconds, Stephen dropped her off several times on her shoulders, effectively waking her up. In the back of her head, Phoebe screamed at one of their girls'; nights when she accidentally fell asleep. Monica's scream on Phoebe also remembered.  


She couldn't tell how much time they walked like that. Instead, she could say that instead of a crowd of people, there were about five people walking in front of them, at least on the same mezzanine floor, and no one was following them. They were the last, despite the fact that earlier there were at least thirty people behind them. She swallowed saliva again and tried to wipe her tearful eyes.  


It turned out, however, that she could barely control her own hand and these were more uncoordinated finger movements than normal facial abrasions. She almost dropped her crumpled, dirty jacket at the same time, and something that definitely hurt her leg was pushing more and more on her. But she didn't have the strength to even look at it.  


“Don't complain, you'll find love someday!” Called out the voice next to her. She moved her astonished head staring at Chandler's back, looking at her from time to time. He walked as if nothing had ever happened, as if he wasn't in danger and, frankly speaking, he didn't even look like that. “You just have to wait for the right person!”  


“It's easy for you to say, you already have Monica.” She noticed, not being sure if she was only talking in her head, or maybe out loud. She coughed up loudly choking on the sharp air. The pain in her stomach and head attacked her with a doubled force, she even felt like she was about to throw up. Chandler just waved his hand.  


“And you had Ross, and you had him years before me!”  


“Four years is not that long.” She stood there, looking back at the ceiling. Ross. Ross. God, did she still have feelings for him? Maybe she's over it this time. Or maybe it's just a momentary feeling again, and when he finds a new girlfriend, she'll become a jealous whore again? Chandler shrugged his shoulders.  


“What about your relationship with Joey?” Rachel opened her eyes wider. Stephen corrected her on his hands right away, probably happy that she woke up at least a little bit.  


“What the hell are you talking about?”  


“Joke, joke. I didn't want you to fall asleep.”  


She quickly realized that her imagination was plotting her sick jokes, which also kept her conscious. She didn't know if she should cry, after all, now she could be considered crazy or happy that anything made her breathe normally.  


Before she knew it, Stephen started taking slower steps, finally stopping by the wall. The people in front of them disappeared behind another corner. She lifted her squint eyes up, coughing loudly again, but Stephen fell to the ground unexpectedly, dropping her on the stairs.  


She was sure she was screaming when she fell down the stairs, destroying the non-existent Chandler. Her jacket fell out of her hands as she rolled over the steps and finally stopped on the wall. She moaned, taking the breath of polluted air, through which she soon began to suffocate.  


Tears appeared in her eyes, flying out after less than a second. She tried to get up anyway, but when her hands bent under her, causing her to lie right next to the edge of the next stairs, she simply gave in to the crying.  


She wouldn't sleep. She couldn't sleep, she promised it to Monica, she promised it to herself a moment ago, and she promised it to all her friends and family. Yeah, how did they react? They had no idea she was near that building. How would they react if they found out she was in it that day?  


Eyelids were as heavy as concrete blocks. The air intoxicated her and prevented her from breathing normally, the pain in her limbs made her want to scream all the time. She looked up hoping for the stairs.  


Silent. Fear. Pain.  


She hid her face in her arms, trying to protect herself from the smoke. It didn't help and she really started suffocating crying. She felt so terribly helpless, stupid and weak that she was about to end her life right now! No friends, no family, in an unfamiliar building, suffocating.  


The crying turned into a roar when she clenched her fingers on the edge of the stairs, trying to pull herself up to them at all costs. Less than a few seconds later she rolled down with a scream from the next few degrees, protecting only her head. She coughed up, trying to open her eyelids, just a little bit. These, however, spontaneously closed, and the grey, even black smoke, surrounded it more and more densely.  


She couldn't breathe and when her eyes finally closed, she started crying again. She reached out her phone with her trembling hand. The equipment was slipping out of her fingers, she could barely see what she was typing, but finally she lifted the phone to her mouth, knowing that she wouldn't have heard anything anyway. She took the phone while waiting for a moment, believing that Monica was answering her phone.  


She almost screamed out of her defenselessness and impotence. She wanted to get up, she wanted to at least crawl, whatever. But she couldn't even hold a phone in her hand, she couldn't breathe normally, nothing.  


She's had enough. She wanted to do something, to try, but she didn't have the strength. None.  


“Mon?” She asked.  


Quiet. The silence surrounding her as much as the smoke.  


Her phone fell out of her hand, not having any strength in her arms, she simply approached him with her head. She was sick, she was already vomiting, her head was dizzying and her eyes were full of cheerful, black spots.  


“Mon, I don't want to die.” That's the first thing she thought of. She wanted to say something different, but she didn't control her vocabulary, she just cried straight into the phone, barely seeing the words on the display. “Mon, I really don't want to die, please help me. Monica, I can't hear anything, I don't know what's going on, I'm alone.” She was whispering nervously. She couldn't hear what she was saying, but she was hoping that her lips still remembered how to create sentences.  


She waited a while, feeling the building move. She cried louder, then started to cough uncontrollably, until she saw in front of her droplets of blood flowing straight from her mouth. This only intensified her horror.  


“Monica, I'm sorry about everything.” She started talking in a hoarse, panicked voice. “I know I wasn't always a good friend, I'm sorry about everything, you hear? I apologize to all of you, tell Ross we were on break, apologize to Phoebe we didn't go on the trip I promised her.” She screamed when something fell off in front of her. Her eyes closed, her voice became quieter and calmer.  


“I don't want to die, I'm sorry. I really don't want to, I don't want to die, Monica. I'm so scared, I'm sorry.”  


She inhaled the air, choking for the second time that day. Fear as if he slowly began to escape from her body, somewhere far away, through the eyes of imagination, she saw a couch in Central Perk, on which all five of her friends sat. Amy and Jill were gossiping at another table, underneath them was her dead dog, now wagging its tail, and her parents were sitting at the bar, normally discussing something, without screaming.  


She smiled at the sight, although tears were still pouring from her eyes.  


“Monica, I'm sorry.” She whispered again, struggling to open her eyes. “I don't want to die, I love you all so much, I'm sorry.” She spoke quietly, finally stopping. She didn't hang up on the phone, she didn't have the strength to do it, instead she walked up to the orange couch, smiling at all her friends.  


Joey ate a berry cupcake, Ross spoke about a dinosaur, Monica and Chandler pretended to fall asleep just to piss him off, and Phoebe took out her guitar from the case to give her another concert soon.  


She closed her eyes, breathing out the air and not even trying to catch another  


She was hoping the first song would be Smelly Cat.


	3. The one with the tough decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad you like it :)

Chandler was prepared for traffic jams on his way to work; in the end they were a constant thing for several years. This time it was no different – yellow taxis intertwined with, mainly, grey and black vehicles, creating long, unstable strands on the road. For the thousandth time in his life he asked himself if it wouldn't be better if he walked on foot.

He looked completely bored at the side of the sidewalk. People squeezed through each other, walking quickly and only rarely purring any apology to another pushed man. Each of them was dressed differently, but mostly they were well-fitting suits or costumes, and from time to time some tracksuits or floral dresses appeared.

Men held briefcases in their hands, women carried handbags on their shoulders, and some brave teenagers trying to get through the city on foot, stubbornly carried on their backs colorful backpacks filled to the brim with books.

Chandler leaned his head against the headrest, sighing loudly. The taxi driver looked at him in the mirror, but he didn't say anything. Perhaps because the breath was not tense or pissed off; it was more of a relief now that he was sitting in any vehicle and not pushing himself through all these people.

Bing may not have been a very lazy person, but he was not one of the hardworking people. So he was grateful for a lot of things. For a job he may have hated, but paid him well, which gave him money to live on. For a fat man who didn't make it to the taxi, so he could now sit back and drive quietly for half an hour to another building. He was grateful for Monica, whom he loved with all his heart and every day he was afraid that she did not deserve it - after all, she was much too great for him.

He was grateful for his friends. For Ross, with whom he had been friends since school and who may have been a bit weirdly twisted about Rachel and the dinosaurs, but he was also an amazing companion. For Joey, his best friend, who always helped him, trusted him and lived with him like a brother. For Rachel, who explained the basic principles of fashion and contact with Monika, who helped him whenever she could. For Phoebe, who, with her strangeness, lit up every gloomy day.

He was not so much a fulfilled man as a happy man. And that was enough for the moment. He looked at the watch, sighing again. The work was to start in exactly eighteen minutes, in another fifteen minutes he should be under the work building and another three, four minutes would take him to his office, where he would do his boring work for nine hours.

He bit his lip, realizing he didn't call Barry last night. Shit, he delayed last week's WENUS papers. He should have introduced more rigor into this work, although, on the other hand, nobody liked him anyway.

Taxi finally moved at a slow pace, turning a few streets later into a slightly less crowded avenue. Chandler bent his head to the sky without finding a cloud there. Well maybe, like this aura will keep on living, he will go out with Monica on her longed-for walk. 

He blinked as he realized he had borrowed another strange word from Phoebe. God, he'll spend a few more years with her and start predicting the future with coffee grounds.

“Nice weather, isn't it?” Asked the man behind the wheel, also looking out the window. “It's a pity we have to get tired in this town.”

“I agree with you.” He muttered surprised that the man had spoken. Usually like no one said anything during the first ten minutes of driving, the conversation no longer appeared. “On days like these, I'd go somewhere, but the rent here doesn't allow me to give up my job.” He snorted.

“Say it to me!” He laughed. “Rarely do people have long routes, and at least a few people are lost in these traffic jams!” Chandler nodded his head, smiling nicely.

After some time he paid the taxi driver thanking him for fulfilling his duty. He walked slowly into the building and greeted some of his colleagues before entering the elevator. He looked again at the watch announcing that it was punctually eight thirty.

“Good morning.” He waved to his secretary, who drank a little coffee. He went into the room, took off his jacket and put a briefcase next to his desk knowing he wouldn't use it again. Actually, he doesn’t remember the code for several years and he doesn’t even know what's in it.

He fired up the computer when the secretary came into the room with a few cards.

“Barry's transferring the results of WENUS.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Joffrey and Margery are asking for a few days off, Tommy said he'd be late with the data, but only one hour. Angela insisted on seeing you, it's about maternity leave.”

“Okay, thank you.” He moaned, massaging his head. Everyone in this stupid company did not fulfill their duties, and because they did not do it, he could not do it either. And then his boss took him out for a chat.

He looked into the monitor of a computer on which some servers were already running. From what he noticed, he had to face a very difficult struggle with statistical analysis and data reconfiguration. He moved in his chair, firing a solitaire nervously. He must have warmed up his brain.

It's been a few hard minutes since he couldn't set his cards. He clenched his fist on the table, but then through the open window he heard a strange, disturbing noise. He quickly realized it was a plane.

He was surprised, however; planes rarely flew in this area, and especially low enough to be heard so well. He went to the window and put the suit that Rachel had chosen for him, her hands, in her trouser pocket. He looked out of the window looking at the rushing plane and blinking his eyes when the sun rays hit his face.

The device was flying too low. He was 100% sure of it.

Then everything happened pretty fast. When the plane flew behind another building, disappearing from his sight, he soon heard an incredibly loud bang, and soon afterwards also the screams of surprised people and the crackling glass from his windows. He jumped to the ground covering his head, including his ears. The noise was so loud that it was almost deafening.

He got up quickly, practically pulling the phone out of his desk. He knocked out a nervously well-known number, every now and then looking at the glass falling down after his office. He put the phone in his ear, but nothing happened. He took a quick look around and found the cause.

He ran to a cable not connected in the contact, pushing it there by force. His hands were shaking as if they were living their own lives. He heard people screaming, heard some explosions and definitely did not feel safe now. He jumped to the phone, redialing the number and ringing the bell, tears appeared in his eyes. Damn, he hoped Monica hadn't gone to work yet! He knew that the plane wasn't dangerous at all in the area of their apartment, it wasn't dangerous even here, but he was terrified. He still didn't know what was hit by the plane or what really happened.

It took a few minutes before his phone was able to call the number he dialed. Apparently, many people were currently using the telephone network, he was not surprised, and there was some kind of temporary overload. Eventually, he heard a quiet beep.

He couldn't stop his sigh of relief when someone finally picked up the phone.

“Monica? Monica!?” He called out maybe too loud.

“It's me, Joe.” He heard, swallowing saliva “Monica didn't go to work, she's with us.”

“Oh, thank God!” He breathed out loud. His heart calmed down unintentionally, and his hands stopped shaking so much, even though he was still damn scared. “Please, put her on the phone.”

“Monica, this is Chandler. He wants to talk to you.” He heard a muffled voice. Waiting for him to answer the phone, he heard some calls from his building. He's gone from one leg to the next.

“Monica?” His wife murmured something vaguely to confirm it. “Look, don't go anywhere. I'm gonna call Ross and Rachel and have them come over, and we're gonna wait this out.” He said quickly.

“Rachel's in there.” Hearing her cry, his heart squeezed again. But when the news came to him that she had spoken, he was bound together in horror. “She's ten floors down, Chandler!” He didn't even know what to say, but he heard the roar of the alarm sirens, and then probably screaming police and fire brigade. Chandler wiped his eyes impulsively.

But actually, where was Rachel? Where'd the fucking plane hit?!

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” He finally whispered. The screams became louder, he also had the impression that someone was screaming through a megaphone. “Look, there's something going on here. I think they're closing the streets, there's an evacuation–”

“Run! Run!” He roared Tommy opening his door and running away.

“Wh–”He started, but then the panicked man ran into his office and pulled him in, almost tearing apart the sleeve of his new shirt. He dropped the phone, yelling at him, but ran obediently.

“What's going on?” He asked when they went up the stairwell.

“The plane hit WTC1.” Some woman said. Probably from the 13th floor, he saw her there once when he brought in the papers. “The police are evacuating, we're supposed to be safe because our building's not close, but it's because…”

“Yeah, I get it.” He interrupted her by thinking about something violently. What the hell was Rachel doing at the World Trade Center?! Is that why there was such a refreshment this morning?

“Do you know what floors he hit?”

“No.” He got an answer. “I know almost as much as you do, I just saw through my window. I don't know, maybe it was a hundredth.”

He cursed in his mind. As soon as the Twin Towers arose, they were all taught that they could not be destroyed in any way. Even the example of an airplane was given then! But it didn't calm him down at all, he was almost sure that nobody was calmed down now. Some plane, from what he could see looking out the window before, was big, hit, from what his friend noticed, the fucking World Trade Center and nothing changed that.

He felt he was sweating. He didn't even know whether it was because of the fast going down the stairs from the eleventh floor or because he was afraid of his friend, who was in a huge skyscraper. Monica said it was ten floors down. So she was safe?

No. If the plane hit the center of the building, the elevators didn't work, and probably there was a fire. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he thought he was right. One thing was certain: Since he was struggling to escape from the eleventh floor, Rachel had little chance of escaping quickly from the eighty or ninety floor . And that made his throat dry and his heart hurt.

Why the fuck did it have to be today? And why did it have to happen?! There were hundreds of people in this building!

It took him about 15 minutes to get out from building. Seeing that the street was already completely blocked for vehicles other than public services, he ran into it and looked around.

Smoke. A gray, huge cloud of smoke spread all over the sky, casting more and more shadows.

“This way, please!” A policeman yelled at him, pulling him by the shoulder. Chandler looked at his frightened face and couldn't blame him. Sam was now panicked, not only because of Rachel, although she was the main reason, but also because of the disaster that literally runs a few roads away from them. He could hear screaming and some crackling.

He paid attention to the street he was standing on. Everywhere there was glass from nearby buildings, there were also a few papers, although not too much. The police and fire brigade went head-on to the WTC with the signals on, people stopped and looked into the sky, chased away by new and new police units. Some woman from another building screamed something when she fell on her knees and cried loudly, explaining to some officer that her daughter was working there.

“Can you hear me?” A policeman asked him. “Go that way!” He ordered.

But what if Monica was hypersensitive? Maybe Rachel wasn't rode to that skyscraper at all, she was rode to something with a similar name. And even if she did, maybe she's already out of it and evacuated too?

He couldn't put himself in danger. He didn't want to.

Chandler rather unconsciously shaken his head, wanting to say something, but not being able to. He tried to bypass him by walking fast. Fucking hell, Rachel was there!

A strong, unobjectionable hand grabbed him quickly.

“The evacuation's that way.”

“Rachel…” That's all he was able to say until he used all his strength to get away from the man's embrace and run towards the burning building. But before he crossed at least one street, he heard the same loud, loud sound. Soon he saw another plane rushing even faster than the previous one, and then boom. He covered his ears and closed his eyes with all his might. He could have sworn that the ground underneath him had shaken.

Further screams reached his ears, and the policeman almost threw him in the other direction.

He raised his head up as he watched another ball of grey smoke blast into the atmosphere. Was it possible for the plane to hit the other tower now? In that case, wasn't it an accident, just something on purpose? Has there just been any fucked-up, brutal and immoral assassination attempt on America and the defenseless people?

Tears came out of his eyes.

“Save yourself, man!” He was yelled at by a furious policeman.

Chandler thought of Monica for a moment. Surely she was worried about him and needed him now; her best friend for, like, no idea how many years, had been in a burning, huge building. But he couldn't just run away, he was the closest to the massacre and if he could, he would have helped.

He made a quick decision. With fear written on his face, his mouth open, and sadness in his eyes, he shakes his head to a policeman, and then broke off to run to the World Trade Center. The man screamed for him, but soon he was too far away to do anything to him. Bing looked for a phone booth to call Monica and tell her not to worry about him; their conversation was abruptly interrupted. But as soon as he found one, the phone was cut off and he realized that all his money was left in the jacket, in the office.

He hesitated. After all, his papers were also in his wallet, but he thought it wasn’t important. He couldn't just go back to the evacuation building now.

He bit his lip, running on the sidewalk. Until less than an hour earlier there was a huge crowd of people here, and the streets were jammed. Now it was quite empty, although some people were running away from here and once in a few seconds a rushing fire truck was passing by.

He was breathless and he had colicky. He started to walk at a fast pace breathing loudly. The closer he was to the target, the more people were fleeing, but when he was just separated from the World Trade Center by the street he stopped, shocked. There was gray dust on the street, on the cars and, most of all, on people. Somewhere there was some concrete or something else - he couldn't identify it.

He noticed an increasing number of refugees from the attacked building itself. He easily recognized them, they were all dirty, their faces showed panic, some people barely moved, but a few people on the contrary - they ran away terrified not even looking where. Most of them had blood on them.

He quickly ran up to some young woman.

“What's going on in there?” He asked her. She was dirty, sweaty and she was covered by ash. In her hair, he noticed dark red blood.

“I-I don't know.” She said shook her head. “There was fire everywhere, I just ran.”

“Which floor are you from? Do the taller ones escape too?” He asked almost obsessively. The woman started shaking.

“From the fourth. They're all running away, but… I don't know if most of it will make it. A lot of people on my floor… burned down, right after the explosion.” Her eyes fogged up and she went away without saying a word. Chandler couldn't blame her, but now he felt as much as possible worse. He combed his hair with his trembling hand and then his face.

Oh, God. Why did you let that happen?

He took a quick steps towards two burning buildings, occasionally asking people from which floor they were on. no one he asked escaped from the higher floor than the eighth. Does Rachel even have a chance to escape?

He crouched in the middle of the road, a fire truck bypassed him without even bothering to trumpet him. Chandler hid his face in his hands, crying.

It's been a long time since he cried, especially so hard. But now his best friend could've died, and she could've died without any seasonable reason. After all, what did she do to deserve to die? What have all these people done to die now?

His hands were wet with tears and sweat. His body was shaking in panicky spasms trying to calm him down. Chandler squatted in the street for a minute, maybe two, wanting to understand what was going on, but the more he went into it, the harder he cried.

Was there any point in going there? Something could have happened to him, something could have hit him, he could have been beaten, thrown by force from the evacuation site. And what was that for?

But Rachel. Rachel may have been there and he thought that this may have been enough for him to take a risk. 

He got up looking nervously. He resumed his journey as more and more people, ambulances, fire trucks and police passed by. He noticed a telephone booth besieged with people and for a few seconds he intensively wondered whether he could finally push himself to the phone. All the people standing by the device looked barely alive; some were grey from the smoke, some red from the blood. What they had in common was the visible fear and stubbornness.

He decided not to take any chances in this situation and at the same time to give everyone a chance to make a phone call. Monica must have been worried about him, but these people were inside. Inside these buildings, fighting for life, running away. He was in a pretty safe position and if not for the fact that he was so worried about Rachel, he would have been on his way to his home.

It's been about fifteen minutes; he doesn't know exactly how many. The roads were impassable, the police drove him out whenever he wanted to go closer to the northern tower, from where people were escaping with a scream, and ambulances were leaving every few seconds with a squeak of tires, filled in in some cases with even three, four, injured people.

Eventually he managed to get closer. The street was grey with dust, every few steps there were some concrete blocks, and the glass was removed from the route of ambulances. He looked up on the 90th floor. In fact, he saw only tar black smoke, and here and there the orange streaks of angry fire, which had probably already absorbed most of the floors, also appeared to him.

Tears appeared in his eyes; the effect of silent panic and poisonous, suffocating gases. Some man ran past him, calling out to him with fear, but he didn't pay much attention to him. He was too preoccupied with knowing that Rachel she may be dead right now, or she may be dying right now. And why? Why the hell? She was such a good person, what did she do wrong!?

Suddenly, it got dark on the street. A shadow was cast on it and on the rest of the buildings, created by a dense cloud flying out of two World Trade Center towers, thus blocking access to any light. It was terrifying, he felt almost like he was in some shitty science-fiction movie._ Only it was really happening_ \- he wept in his mind.

He clenched his fists, running down the street further. His heart was beating in his chest, he was losing the ability to breathe normally. He put a sleeve to his mouth trying to minimize the access of any. . . things that are now in the air. He was about five hundred meters from the tower. A number of police, fire trucks and trembling, fleeing people stood right in front of him.

Despite this, he went further, in a completely different direction than other inhabitants, trying to protect themselves. He reached the firefighter, whose face indicated the seriousness and barely noticeable fear. When the man noticed him, he almost immediately pulled out of his large pocket a mask, pushing it into his hand.

“Here you go. Run.” He just said, looking up. He put a gift on his face, but at the same time he tried to break through. The man stopped him quickly, pushing him back.

“I can't run away, there's my friend!” He screamed desperate. There were heads coming out of the building all the time, every one other than Rachel.

“Look, it's for your own safety.” He answered him hard. Chandler immediately recognized that he couldn't outsmart this guy as easily as he could with a policeman.

“Fuck safety, she could be dying!” He cried, his eyes were drilled into everyone who was coming out of the tower, filling himself with tears. He wiped them with his hand.

“I'm sorry, man, but there's an evacuation in progress and you can't…” Seeing his terrified face, the fireman sighed hard. “Maybe… Maybe it'll work, okay? My brother's on the evacuation team, they're trying.”

“I have to, I have to go get her!” He yelled at him. He was gathering to add a few more words, when suddenly he noticed some restless flames behind firefighter. Only after a second, when a frightened man took him aside and turned his head, did he realize that there were burning people. Somebody extinguished them with screaming, mixing with the roar of crying and pain, barely audible amidst the hustle and bustle of fire coming from the building.

“You can't, it's too dangerous.” He said, and when he wanted to deny it, the man grabbed his hand and lifted it up, pointing to the ring. “You have a wife. Go to her, I'm sure she's scared. The phones are overloaded and it's not easy to reach anyone now, the streets are closed, so if you live a few miles away, you'll still be back for more than two or three hours. You have to believe your friend can handle it.”

“How!?” He asked with a shock, looking at him incomprehensibly. In his voice one could hear a clear note of hostility. “How the hell when I see what's going on here!? These people…”

“Please, run.” The firefighter's tone was practically begging, which he didn't expect.

Chandler swallowed saliva. It was difficult to breathe in the mask, but at least he was doing it with clean air. On the one hand, he wanted to get out of this dark, stinking hell, lay down on a couch near Monica, Joey and Phoebe, but on the other. . . . God, how he wanted to just for a moment see Rachel's healthy head in this crowd!

“I can't. I can't.” He shakes his head again. “I can't leave her like this.”

“But if you want a better chance of survival, you can't stay here!” He was pushing him away with strong hands. Bing wanted to ask him a stupid question for a moment; what threatened him now? But he soon realized that practically everything: the air he breathed, the things that fell from buildings, people who didn't care where and how they ran just wanting to get out.

He looked at his gold ring. He loved Monica and knew that now she was very scared, maybe even suffering. But if he found Rachel...

“Which floors are being evacuated from?” He quietly asked what was barely audible through his white mask, and after those few minutes; the gray mask.

“It's getting faster and faster, a lot of people…” He stopped violently, clenching his fists hidden under thick black gloves. “A lot of people don't survive a long evacuation. Therefore, everything is going on…”

“Which floors?” He interrupted him briefly. The fireman shrugged his shoulders.

“I don't know, some people are from the 20th, some people are from the 40th… Please, just run away while you can. If your friend will be in hospital, her emergency contact will be notified immediately. Just save yourself, go to your wife. I insist.”

And Chandler broke. He swallowed heavy tears, rubbed his eyes and hair, lowered his shoulders. He took a slow step backwards, immediately making faster and faster moves, even without saying goodbye to the fireman. He started running home from time to time, turning back as if believing that it was all one monstrous dream.

But it wasn't a dream. And when after a dozen or so minutes of running he heard a bang, and immediately afterwards another one, he turned away terrified. A ton of grey dust escaped from the southern tower and soon turned brown. The incredibly loud explosion that shaken his ears must have to be heard across half of New York City.

A worker ran past him screaming, a woman with a daughter and an old man did it too. He was already so dry in his mouth that he could not swallow the saliva; he simply watched one of the largest and safest buildings in the world collapse slowly under his own weight, spreading panic and pollution around.

It was no more than thirteen blocks from the building and after just a few seconds the ashes and the stench of fire broke through the mask. People started to run to some shops, or further down the street, defending themselves behind other buildings. Chandler, too scared to do anything, was pulled by the shoulder with all might. He almost fell over when he ran shoulder to shoulder with a man pulling him along the street. Practically without thinking, he turned his head back.

What he saw looked amazing, despite appearances. A gray, huge cloud of smoke consumed everything in its path. Entire buildings, trees, road signs, streets and people disappeared under it, as if drowning in milk. He saw pain, fear and worry on many faces. Chandler would look at the cloud absorbing everything in its path for a long time; it might have seemed terrible, but as he looked at it, it seemed more and more accessible, even desirable.

The cloud was rushing towards them at an unimaginable speed, and the deaf, loud thunder of the fall of the building and the noise of the emerging wind could be heard all the time. He realized that in his whole life he would not experience a similar feeling of horror and delight in one.

“Christ.” He whispered in an amok. Just a second later, he was brutally thrown into a building. He quickly turned his head towards the windows, not even paying attention to where and with whom he was.

It was less than a second. It took so long for the white cloud to sneak through the windows, leaving behind only boundless, deep black.

The room became completely dark, the electricity disappeared and only a moment later some substitute batteries generating electricity for the lamps were switched on. Chandler swallowed the saliva; at that moment the cloud was no longer delightful, but completely shocking and terrifying. Black outside the window didn't disappear and probably didn't want to disappear soon.

Dust began to penetrate through the slits in the doors and windows. To Chandler as if only now the sounds started to come, earlier he heard only a strange squeal and silence. Some woman in the back of the store was crying loudly, the guy who saved him a moment ago, tried to call someone on the phone panicking, although there was no reception. He turned back to study the room.

It was a tiny supermarket with bright tiles on the floor and walls, white shelves in the middle and a cash register at the very end of the place. He didn't see any salesman, but people took water from their lockers without even looking at the cash register and, in fact, stealing nothing. He walked up to a dark blond guy who led him and pushed him into the store. Right now he was combing his thick hair with violent movements. He knocked on his shoulder, taking off his mask.

He ignored the suffocating feeling of breathing air.

“I'm sorry.” He was surprised by his very hoarse voice. He coughed. “I'm sorry.” He repeated in a slightly more confident tone, which still expressed a particular dose of uncertainty. “Oh, yeah?” A man asked nervously, looking once at him and once at the cell display.

“I'd like to thank you for…”

“You're welcome.” He interrupted him quietly. “Earlier... I didn't help a screaming woman before, I thought maybe I could do it with you. I'm Emmet.” Crooked smiles entered their faces. But there was justified bitterness in her eyes.

“Yes, thank you very much anyway. I think my wife would kill me if I died so easily.” He joked quietly, putting his hands in his pocket.

“Mine would have murdered me if I hadn't contacted her right away. Do you know when the signal will come back or anything?” He asked. Chandler was surprised to hear about his wife, the guy couldn't be more than twenty-five years old. Actually, he shouldn't be surprised - Ross had a wife by then, too.

“I'm afraid I don't know. I just realize that once the smoke settles, we need to get out of here as fast as possible.” Emmet nodded his head, giving him a bottle of water. He took it with gratitude and quickly drank half of it. Damn, it was so good to have any liquid in throat.

Chandler sat under some shelf, looking at the black outside the window all the time. Smoke was floating in the room, even though people were putting their jackets or sweatshirts under the slits to minimize it as much as possible. He'd be happy to give up his vest if only he had it with him.

He sighed, dipping his fingers in his hair. He sincerely hoped that Monica would not come up with a brilliant plan and would not come here. Everyone always joked that she could handle any situation. But everyone also knew, at least he thought so, that Monica, despite appearances, was also an ordinary woman, feeling fear, not always able to cope.

Rachel certainly knew that. He had the impression that both women knew each other even better than he and Joey. 

He lowered his head down. Joey and Phoebe certainly took care of her. He couldn't worry about it. Tribbiani was considered a fool, but Rachel and he, and perhaps even Pheebs and Monica, realized that he was a responsible, honest, loving guy. So he certainly took care of his wife, he believed it with all his heart.

Then he again remembered Rachel. He automatically felt biting guilt and chest pain, as if someone had stabbed him in the heart. He should have kept looking for her. He should behave like a true friend and help, at least trying to achieve anything. Instead, he ran away like a coward, leaving her there alone, scared.

Unless she was already dead. Two tears came out of Chandler's eyes, which he immediately wiped off with a dusty sleeve of a white shirt.

He looked at Emmett. He was shaking strangely, looking around a little too morbidly, biting his lip. His sweater was soaked in something that it was only at this point that Chandler realized that he was probably injured. The man was a blond with a boyish stature, but he proved with his strength that it was only an appearance. He had blue, bright eyes and hard facial features; before that, probably a light brown blazer was all gray, except for the almost black bloodstain he was trying to ignore. Dark jeans in some places were white and dusty, like his face, shoes and hands.

“Emmet?” He stood up quickly, approaching him with caution. “Where did you run from?” He asked a question that bothered him.

The blond smiled, clenching his fists tightly. He shrugged his shoulders as he looked at people who were sitting, helping each other or talking. A few people were just crying.

“From the north tower.” He finally answered. Bing felt like his heart stopped for a while. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Emmet, which floor are you from? What happened to him? Have you seen a little lower blonde today” He looked at him with so much hope that the man stopped looking around, and he started to look at him.

“I escaped from the seventy-sixth floor.” He whispered, and his eyes were foggy. His hands were shaking so hard that Chandler unintentionally remembered Monica's grandmother with Parkinson. “I'm. . . I don't really know what was going on there.”

Bing held his arm, pulling man down. They both leaned against the shelves, of which Chandler sideways, looking at the Emmet next to him.

“Please, there's… There was or is someone very close to me.” He begged, weeping.

“I didn't pay much attention to the surroundings, the building suddenly shaken, the windows broke, everything started to fall down… Then my boss shouted to run, I just followed orders. The smoke was everywhere, I was barely breathable, and soon... I have a feeling it was gasoline, it spilled over most of the floor, burning literally everything, even some people. I really didn't see much, man, I wanted to save myself, but as far as I know, on the floors where the explosion took place, above them and on the first floors it was the worst.”

Chandler swallowed his saliva, leaning his head back so that no more tears leak out of his eyes. But he couldn't stop it and soon he started sobbing like a child.

“Oh, my God.” He whispered to himself.

“Relax, that person could have saved himself.” Emmet looked like he was telling himself. “I did it, a lot of people did.”

“From your floor, how many came out?”

The blond bit his lip, and another blood drop ran down his beard. Chandler suddenly remembered that he was dealing with a wounded man, but seeing the reaction to the question he had asked earlier, he could not focus on it.

“Five, maybe six people.” He whispered.

Bing stood up with annoyance, looking around the store. His eyes quickly found cigarettes lying nearby, which he took with a decisive movement, almost tearing apart the box. Tears continued to flow down his face, his legs were shaking as if he had no strength to support his weight, and his mind was circulating only in one thought.

Should he come back? Should he have saved Rachel at all costs, even though he didn't even know if she was still alive? He immediately cried, realizing that she could have been lying somewhere under the rubble of concrete and glass.

“Fucking hell.” He cursed with a choked voice. Rachel was as important to him as Joey himself and only a little less than Monica. For seven years, where they had made friends, he had not once thought of how it would be if she had left them, whether to work abroad or in another city. “Fuck, why?” He looked out of the window, where the black may have lowered slightly, but still remained dense and certainly dangerous.

The lights blinked insecurely, some man opened a box of cookies and started to eat them in the corner of the room. His example was followed by other people who took some food. Chandler looked at them with condemnation, but he couldn't help. Maybe he didn't even want to do it.

After all, if it made the panic disappear...?

“Look, I ran away. I had a couple of people with me, and there was a really huge crowd on the fire escape.” Emmet approached him, talking with a fierce face. Bing thought that when the blond man talked to him, he was less worried about the situation they were in. “How do you know that this person didn't do it?”

“Rachel.” Finally, he said, looking in the pockets for a lighter he didn't find. Monica probably took it out knowing exactly what he would use it for. He smiled a little. “She doesn't know the building, I think she's been there for the first time, at least in the offices.”

“The evacuation route is well marked. We didn't hear another explosion, the northern tower is still standing, maybe she's escaping!”

Chandler felt like an electrical beam ran through his whole body. Then he clenched his fists, crushing a pack of cigarettes.

“Look at the window, Emmet.” He whispered, coming up to the door. “You can't tell me that you don't smell that stench or that anyone can get through that fucking abyss.”

He interrupted for a moment, wiping tears from his cheeks.

“I need to find her.” Emmet looked at him in horror.

“I'm sorry, but this is a very bad idea.” He said, looking at him. His hands were still shaking, and Chandler felt that the red spot on his shirt was getting bigger every second. Nevertheless, he did not pay much attention to this view.

“One building collapsed. How do you know the other one won't do it? You want to die, damn it? After I helped you not to do it!?”

“You don't understand.” Bing twisted his head. “She's like a sister to me, I have to find her, even if she's dead.” The last word barely got through his throat. He let his eyes down, staring at his dusty, slightly worn shoes.

“Look, I don't even know your name.” He said angrily. “But I know you have a wife. For probably a couple of hours, maybe less, there'll be no reception. You can't tell her where you are, what you're trying to do. Find a working phone booth and call her, but the best thing to do would be to go to home. Think about her!”

And Chandler wondered for a moment, laughing a little curious whether Monica was now more concerned about her best friend in the building or her husband, who was theoretically in a safer situation.

Immediately afterwards, he captured himself by looking at the window again. This guy was probably right, he should have made it clear to Monica that he was alive. On the other hand, it would be best if he sat on the couch with her and comforted her.

But would he be able to forgive himself then? What if Rachel needed help?

“What if Rachel needs help?” He asked loud and clear, drawing Emmett's attention.

“There are ambulances, police and firefighters everywhere. They're gonna save her, maybe even now she is, like us, in some building!”

He knew he was right. He should go to Monica to cheer her up, not expose himself to additional danger. As soon as the smoke settles, he had to run home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter as usual in a week!


	4. The one with a silent fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad you like it! I hope you enjoy this chapter, too :)

Monica spent another couple of minutes at the toilet couldn't stop thinking about the horror happening a few kilometers away. In her stomach something was falling down and up all the time, she felt stinging in her chest, and her head was hurt painfully with every breath she caught. Salt tears were flowing down her cheeks, dripping on her legs.

She took a deeper breath, feeling that she had nothing to vomit anymore. She moved away from the toilet slowly, not even looking at the living room where her two friends were still sitting. She drained the water, washed her face in the sink and, as she walked into the kitchen, drank a huge glass of water. 

_“Firefighters are doing everything in their power to get people out of burning buildings.”_ The woman said. The close-up on the skyscrapers on TV disappeared, but there appeared view from some other roof, a few kilometers away. Monica assumed that this was done because of the drastic content that was increasingly appearing on the screen. 

_“As they themselves acknowledge, the situation of many victims is critical, but many people leave without much help. Our reporter, Sam, asked a few people how they feel and these confirmed that most of the World Trade Center employees leave on their own, without harming their physical health.”_

She specially added the penultimate word, Monica understood, looking at the TV. She was now standing behind the couch, Phoebe and Joey were on the balcony watching a huge, constantly growing cloud of black smoke. Bing looked without any energy at the TV, looking for any good news. 

People were running away. But what kind of people? Was it possible for Rachel to escape without damage from the 84 floor? She bit her lip taking a trembling breath. She went into the bedroom for a while to grab blanket and look at the screen of the receiver with pain until the end of her hope, when she noticed something. 

Her cell phone was on the bedside table, lamp was blinking. 

Monica's muscles tensed when she was looking terrified at the device, almost running to it. When she took phone in her hand, her hands were shaking lightly, but when she saw who called her, she had to sit down so as not to fall. 

She missed Rachel's phone. 

She saw a message in her mailbox, which almost made her scream. Suddenly, far too hard, she pressed the right button, taking the phone to her ear. She had to hold her hand with her other hand because she was shaking so hard that she could hardly hear anything. She could not even say what she felt now; it was a combination of pure horror, pain and hope. 

**“…ea what's going on.”** She heard a quiet voice, drowned out by other people's conversations and some noise. She swallowed her saliva by closing her eyes. **“Monica, I'm so scared, I can't hear anything, there's some kind of evacuation going on. Oh, God, I don't even know what to say now, I'm just going down the stairs and I hope I can get out of here. You know, I don't care about this promotion. I will try to come home as soon as possible. Love you hon, remember this.” **

She felt the shivers of her back; with every word Rachel spoke, a stream of tears was flowing out of her eyes, and her lips were shaking almost as uncontrollably as her hands. She leaned her head back when the call was over, covering her face with her hands and crying quietly. She made a phone call to the absolute maximum. She squeezed it in her hand with all her might. 

About an hour ago, Rachel started running away. She didn't hear anything - actually, what did it mean? Was it a shock, or did she lose her hearing? She screamed straight into the pillow, feeling damn helpless. 

In fact, she knew nothing, she couldn't help anything, she was afraid to leave the house and go around those buildings. She wanted to wait for Chandler, she wanted to hope that her friend would come back safe and sound, just like the others already running away to home people. She left the room without a blanket, wandering like a convict to the balcony. Phoebe and Joey didn't pay much attention to her. 

Tribbiani held his friend in his arms with his eyes closed, stroking her back and whispering something. Monica felt strangely out of place in this situation, and when she heard Buffay sobbing, she just wanted to come back in front of the TV and cry like a small child, which she had already done several times today. 

Her trembling, a little squeaky and uncertain voice broke the silence. 

“Rachel called.” 

Phoebe immediately moved away from the man, turning back and looking at her with sad, hope eyes. In Joey's dark, deep irises there was a huge faith that she was afraid to look into, so she looked at the ground. She felt so bad now that they were staring at her with belief, and she was actually in a similar position to them. She didn't know much more, and she felt like she wouldn't find out. 

Joey finally couldn't stand the silence and took a step towards her. 

“And?” He asked hysterically. 

“I had my phone on mute.” She confessed with guilt, without raising her eyes. Joey cursed loudly, putting his hands on the wall and covering his face with them. She could feel Phoebe's eyesight on her, but she was afraid to look at her. She was afraid to look at anyone now. 

“It was like a few minutes after the explosion. She said she was evacuating.” 

She specially omitted the part where Rachel said that she can't hear anything. She was too afraid to mention it, she didn't even want to think about it. Phoebe took a quick step up to her, so she moved into the apartment. Soon afterwards she felt warm arms wrapping around her, into which she willingly gave herself up, crying quietly. 

She didn't believe it was happening. Her best friend, practically from the beginning of her life, could just suffocate somewhere, or be crushed by a crowd of other people. Joey walked into the house, reaching into the front door with his hand. 

“Where are you going?” She asked quietly, walking away from Buffay. There was a note of panic in her voice. 

She didn't know where Chandler was, her friend fought for her life. She really didn't want to lose another person. 

“I need to be alone.” His red eyes told her everything. But she wouldn't listen to them. 

“Joe, please. Stay with us.” She insisted and she coming up to him. The man shaken his head. 

“I'll be back in a few minutes.” He only blinked, quickly leaving and closing the door behind him. 

Monica stopped the tears this time. She knew it was hard for him, too; after all, Chandler was his best friend, and with Rachel they got very close to each other when they lived in the same apartment. But she couldn't stand the thought that she'd only have to stay with Phoebe. She needed more closeness, she really needed anything. 

She was so scared right now. 

_“Sam, tell us what you see.”_ The woman on the TV said. Monica slowly approached one of the armchairs, sitting on it and wrapping herself in a tight ball. She held a phone in her hand, every few seconds looking at it with fear. 

She was sure that now there was a gigantic overload on the cellular network and, in order to make any phone call, you had to be extremely lucky and patient. But she believed that someone else would call her; Ross, Chandler or Rachel. What would she give for having any confirmation that they're okay! 

She was damn grateful that Ross took Ben in time to come home with him. Now he was probably comforting Susan. 

_“All buildings are evacuated within a radius of two or three kilometers, different police officers spoke in different ways.”_ Said Sam and the camera from one of the towers appeared on the screen again. _“I see less and less people coming out of two towers. This means that most of the people who could have run away.”_

Phoebe clenched her fists without saying anything. Monica just closed her eyes praying that Rachel would be among this people. God, she didn't deserve to die! She was one of the most wonderful people she knew, she couldn't imagine a month without her. 

From time to time the reporter's voice was drowned by the speeding ambulances and fire brigades, screams of people and general confusion. At some point, the image was interrupted, returning only after a few seconds. That's when Joey came in, too, without saying a word, sitting on the couch, right next to Phoebe. They both grabbed each other's hands, and Buffay cuddled up to his strong arms. Monica automatically reminded Chandler's shoulders which always gave her safety, love and freedom. 

And suddenly, like a bolt of lightning from the sky, her phone rang. Everyone looked at the device with shock. Phoebe and Joey leaned over the table when she recognized the number. 

“Rachel.” She said with fear and looking at the other two, she quickly answered the call and put the phone to her ear. Tears immediately appeared in her eyes, and her heart hurt badly when she heard hoarse, tired and crying at the same time, voice. 

She got up without stopping crying. 

**“Mon, I don't want to die.”** She heard and froze. She unintentionally opened her mouth, covering it with her other hand, tears came out of her eyes and a groaning broke out from her lips. “Rachel…” She said quietly. Joey and Phoebe got up scared of her reaction. 

**“Mon, I really don't want to die, please help me. Monica, I can't hear anything, I don't know what's going on, I'm alone.”** She heard a whisper in the midst of some noise and screaming. She quickly looked at the TV where the view of running firefighters was shown. Some of them entered the tower. 

Rachel's voice wounded her terribly. She was surprised that only this could make her feel so damn helpless, bad. She fell on her knees at a coffee table, hugging the phone and crying straight into the device. 

“Honey, you're gonna be okay.” She spoke even though Rachel didn't hear her. She was shaking, not really believing what was happening, the pain and fear she felt was unbearable. “Just don't fall asleep, help is coming, Ra…” 

She heard a powerful crackle and then a few seconds of silence, not counting her cough. She cried louder. 

**“Monica, I'm sorry about everything.”** She soon heard a terrified, almost panicked voice. **“I know I wasn't always a good friend, I'm sorry about everything, you hear? I apologize to all of you, tell Ross we were on break, apologize to Phoebe we didn't go on the trip I promised her.”** She heard screaming and another bang as if something was falling down. **“I don't want to die, I'm sorry. I really don't want to, I don't want to die, Monica. I'm so weak, I'm sorry.”**

Her voice was full of living fear and pain. Monica cried loudly trying to say anything, but she couldn't get anything out of herself. The sounds from the phone stopped for a moment, so she could hear Rachel's suffocating breath and coughing more and more often. 

She couldn't imagine what she was going through now. She simply knelt in front of the TV without paying attention to anything, neither to the questioning, panicked eyes of her friends, nor to the people on the screen of the device. She looked at the floor with her weeping eyes. 

She felt as if at this very moment someone was tearing her heart out. 

As if someone had stuck a knife in it with a crooked smile, slowly digging out its interior with painful satisfaction. Every time Rachel coughed into her earpiece or there was a louder crack, she felt a sting so incredibly hurting that she almost screamed into the phone. 

“Don't apologize, Rach, please.” She spoke alternately with the roar of crying. “You're gonna be okay, please stop crying!” 

But Rachel didn't hear her. She was alone in a burning building, suffocating and hoping only to be heard. And Monica almost screamed out of helplessness when she couldn't prove it to her. **“Monica, I'm sorry.”** She heard a whisper, weaker than the previous ones. She was terrified, even frozen in motion, even though tears were still pouring over her face, dripping on a bright, soft carpet. **“I don't want to die, I love you all so much, I'm sorry.”**

She barely heard the last word. She waited for a second for some coughing, screaming, anything, even if it was caused by pain. But she didn't hear anything but some kind of grinding of metal. She took a trembling breath, shaking her head panicking. 

“Rachel!” She called out loud. “Rachel, please say something!” 

“Rachel, I'm begging you!” Now she was screaming loudly. She felt her hand on her shoulders, probably Joey's, but she didn't pay any attention to her. She started crying on the phone louder and louder, not being able to calm down. “Rachel, talk to me! Don't leave me, Rachel!” 

Her whole body was shaking in uncontrollable convulsions, her face was red and covered with trails of tears, always soon to fall to the ground. She stopped catching her breath, only some fragments of air were getting into her lungs. 

_She was dead._

“Rachel, say something!” She roared when she dropped her phone and lay down on the ground. She clenched her fists so tightly that something was cracking in them, but she didn't pay any attention to it. She covered her face with shaking hands, still thinking of Rachel lying somewhere in the building. 

_She was dead._

“God, why?” She spoke to herself loudly, feeling like she was going crazy. Her body was bursting with strange energy, she wanted to hit something, whatever she could, but she can't do it. She didn't even look at Phoebe coming out of her apartment, nor at Joey coming near her. 

“Mon...” He also spoke through tears, she heard it. And although it might have seemed that she needed closeness, it wasn't so. She just wanted to scream, cry, destroy something. 

_Because… She was dead._

“Rachel…” She was exhausted, unable to catch her normal breath. She no longer wondered about anything, nor where the phone fell, nor what was happening on TV. 

The piercing pain in her heart, head and stomach prevented her from focusing on anything other than her friend's dusty face, which was lying somewhere with no chance of being rescued. 

She lost her. 

Shouting at Joey to move away from her, she stood up and knocked over the coffee table with all her strength. She didn't care that there was a newspaper on it, a remote control for a TV set from which batteries fell out, or even that the water spilled on the floor. She screamed something, she did not realize what, throwing pillows on the right and left, crying more and more loudly. 

“Why!?” She roared at Joey, who was crying while standing in the middle of the room. “Why her, Joe?” 

“I don't know...” He said with such pain in his voice that Monica looked into his dark eyes. All she saw in them was fear and suffering, just like in her own. 

She approached him, almost throwing herself into a warm, powerful embrace. They both cried loudly, standing between the living room and the kitchen, sharing their helplessness and sorrow. 

Monica dipped her head in a recess in his neck, looking for at least a little bit of peace. 

But Rachel was in her head all the time. The best, innocent, one-of-a-kind person. What did she do? God, what did she do to kill her in such a horrible way? 

_"Just trust me! No matter what happens, I will come back to you in one piece, at least until I am a hundred years old and have the strength!" _

She heard a blonde scream in her head. She didn't even remember what the conversation was all about, probably it took place when Rachel suddenly disappeared for the whole day. She didn't answer the phone then, left no note of information, just disappeared. Then Ross, in a gloomy voice, said she could go on a date after work and mute the phone - which was truth. But that day they had one of the first serious quarrels when Monica was afraid all day that someone had done something to her. 

She cried louder, wetting the whole Tribbiani sweatshirt. But he ignored it, hugging her harder and harder, until she felt even a little bit better. 

Suddenly, they heard another bang, and the TV went bustling. Reporters screamed, people also screamed and ran as fast as they could, ambulances, police and fire brigade escaped. 

Her legs bent under her, but she was still looking at the screen. 

The building of the southern tower started to crack, expelling from itself successive doses of dust and ash. After about a few seconds, he started to collapse into himself, destroying everything and everyone, and Monica was sure that the rumble she heard was definitely above normal. She sat on the couch slowly, taking a lot of air in her lungs. 

“She's dead.” She whispered to Joey sitting next to her with a grave face. She turned her head towards him, not being able to look at the collapsing miracle of construction. “She's really dead.” 

“You can't be sure of that.” He whispered to her with pain. “There's still a chance that she's out there somewhere… She's in the North Tower, and this still standing.” 

She didn't listen to him. 

Joey didn't hear how or what Rachel said. Joey didn't hear the background sounds, didn't realize how weak and tired her voice was, how afraid she was, but also how much she wanted to give up. Joey wasn't stupid, maybe he just wanted to make her feel better, but it didn't work for her. In fact, she only wanted to see her friend, even for a moment. 

Or at least she wanted Rachel to know she was listening. That she was in that connection, that she talked to her and loved her. After all, they didn't even say goodbye today. 

She bent down again crying. The building collapsed and the resulting smoke spread across all streets, hiding even the taller buildings. She wiped her face with her hands, smudging tears all over her face. She could only hope that Chandler had managed to escape and was on his way home, far from this horror. 

Looking at the TV, they didn't say anything anymore. They did not dare to look out of the window at the dust cloud, nor did they dare to move from their places. Phoebe, whom Monica had forgotten completely and almost for that reason began to cry again, returned to them sitting on the couch without saying a word. Bing saw how much her eyes were red and her breathing was uneven? Monica couldn't even think of anything but Rachel, still lying in the northern tower. 

For a long time nothing happened on the screen, each of them sat on pins watching a commentator on the TV, telling them that many people had been saved. 

None of them believed it. 

Finally, the camera came back and the reporter Sam started talking about people hiding in different shops, pharmacies or whatever had windows. The camera showed a close-up of the black outside the window. He described that the building collapsed quickly and without any previous assumptions; suddenly something started to crack in it. 

Only after a dozen or so minutes did the smoke settle down and Sam went out with the camera to the grey street. The visibility was poor, but still what they managed to see was terrible. 

Literally every scrap of street, sidewalk, flower pot or signpost was under at least a few centimeters of grey dust. There was nothing green in the trees anymore, no building or even a street could be distinguished; the gray took over the whole area of the two towers. Monica forced herself not to let tears out of her eyes as she watched the refugees, all gray or bloody, terrified people, running as far away from the towers as possible. This time no man wanted to stop for a short conversation. Joey wiped his eyes, wiping away his tears, and Phoebe didn't even pretend it didn't move her. She was cuddled up to Tribbiani and sobbed him in the shoulder. 

Some ambulance was standing on the sidewalk and Monica was shocked to realize that the whole front part of the car was stuck in some broken tree. There was no one behind the wheel. 

She took a deep breath. 

Could Rachel have survived this by being in the second tower? Was she even alive when that skyscraper collapsed? 

She cried, looking at Rachel's old room. How much she'd give to see her again! She'd do anything, really anything! She bent down again, hiding her face in her hands. Really, what did she do to lose her? She was one of the most valuable people in her life, she could always rely on her, and although they were different in almost everything, that's what made their friendship so special! 

She really loved her. 

Her heart hurt again, and something fell down in her stomach. She moaned quietly, no longer knew whether she was in mental or physical pain, but a moment later she rolled up in a bullet on the couch, looking empty on the TV, while tears escaped uncontrollably from her eyes. 

_“Monica, come on! Drink that whiskey!” Laughed drunken Rachel, almost dancing on the seat next to her. _

_ “I don't think getting drunk is gonna help me.” She said evil, obediently taking the liquor and quickly drinking it. She crooked looking at Rachel's smiling, young face. _

_ “Getting drunk always helps.” She was serious, and her eyes shone when she poured another round. “You need to relax, Mon. You must forget about Pete! What do you need Pete for? You got me!” _

_ “Great, a drunken friend in exchange for a rich…” _

_ “A crazy, almost dead man, a man who wasn't so beautiful!” _

_ Rachel sat in front of her, leaning over her face. Her wavy brown hair, which she later colored, tousled her cheeks. A warm, sincere breath blew her face. _

_ “It's gonna be okay.” Green whispered to her then, and she snuggled into her quickly. Monica allowed herself to fall apart and less than a few seconds later, she sat tightly cuddled up to her friend's body, crying quietly. “Shh, nothing's going on.” She spoke quietly then, scratching her back and her hair. _

_ “What do you mean, no, it's-“ _

_ Rachel pushed her away, her eyes were full of love and understanding, which immediately encouraged her. Cool, smooth hands laid on her cheeks, wiping away tears made her feel better - she felt really loved. She looked at her with hope. _

_ “Monica.” She said in a serious voice. “It's gonna be okay. After even the worst possible situation, something good comes along. You know who taught me that?” She waited for a moment and, not hearing the answer, smiled. “**You**, sweetie.” _

That night, they were sitting right where Monica is now. Bing started crying again, dreaming of being in her calming arms. Her or Chandler's. 

Instead, she cuddled up to a pillow she picked up from the ground right under the couch. Phoebe didn't even ask why it was such a mess, she actually felt like she didn't even notice it. 

After even the worst possible situation, something good comes along. 

She had no idea when she said that sentence to Rachel, but now she felt like she was lying to herself and her. How the hell was that supposed to be right now? How was anything supposed to be okay after what happened? She looked at her cell phone, lying on the ground, behind the chair. She didn't want to use it, she didn't want to hear about it or even look at it. 

The TV was in the center of attention again, this time because someone finally agreed to say something about the escape from the World Trade Center. 

_“Which floor did you get off? Which tower are you from and do you know maybe…”_

_“I'm from the seventy-sixth floor.”_ Some blonde guy answered. _“North tower.”_

Monica was looking carefully at the blue-eyed man looking somewhere far away towards the WTC. She swallowed her saliva knowing that he was less than ten floors below Rachel, and she unintentionally felt anger; he stood there, he looked healthy. 

_She was dead._

Thinking about it, there were tears in her eyes again. She's never cried so much in her life in one day. 

_“I don't know what's going on in there right now. When I was running away from my office, somewhere around the 40th floor the smoke was unbearable, people could barely breathe through their clothes. I could barely make it myself, but I did.”_

_“Do you know anything about firefighters? Did they come in?”_

_“They didn't go any higher than the 30th floor. There was the biggest fire there and they were left to extinguish it. Excuse me, is that live?”_

All three of them wrinkle their eyebrows on this question. 

_“Yeah, do you have a problem with that?”_ The camera went down almost immediately so as not to show a man's face. However, he quickly picked it up, directing it straight at it. 

_“I was told to tell that Chandler Bing is going after Rachel.”_ He said swallowing saliva. Monica stood up automatically, screaming quietly, as did her two friends. _“I tried to dissuade him from this idea, it's pure suicide, but he wasn't persuaded. He said he'd come home as soon as he got any information about her.”_

And the man left without looking at the surprised reporter. Dust on his back were still recorded, then camera man returned to looking for more people willing to interview. 

But Monica seems to have stopped in time. At first she could not believe what she had heard, then she entered into joy and then terrifying fear. God, Chandler was pushing himself right into the lion's mouth! She started crying violently, not believing he had decided to do it. 

Goddamn it, why didn't anyone stop him? Why didn't that idiot just think about them and come home? 

She didn't know what to think. On the one hand, she was completely happy; her husband went looking for their best friend. Maybe... Maybe she's alive, maybe he can save her and bring her to the apartment... 

But on the other hand, she cried. She cried because she knew he was going straight to the next tower, which could collapse at any moment. Instead of one precious person she could have lost two today; she was not sure she would have been able to cope with such a thing. She sat down, feeling her legs turn into cotton wool. 

God, why was that happening?! Why couldn't today be a nightmare? 

It's been a couple of hours. Hours full of tension and fear, spent mostly on crying. 

The three of them were looking at the TV with a numbness and no idea what else to do. Monica tried more than ten times to call Chandler, Ross or Rachel, but none of these people gave her an answer. So she sat down squeezing the pillow into which additional tears would fall every few minutes. Near her there was a sealed bottle of water, from which she drank a small sip of water every few minutes, so that Joey wouldn't be upset about her dehydration. Of course, at the beginning this made her laugh a bit, but seeing his serious sight, she given up. 

Tribbiani hugged the upset Phoebe with his shoulder, trying to comfort her at least a little. However, the blonde did not speak a word for another hour, after which she quiet asked to make the TV louder. Monica didn't want to agree, thinking that it was enough volume and she really didn't want to listen to more screams or stupid questions, which she was fed up with. 

But she made the TV louder, realizing that if Phoebe spoke only for this, she cared about it. Also Joey's eyesight made her realize that he'd rather hear everything more clearly. Maybe they were hoping to hear some known voice. She had no idea, she lost all hope of getting Rachel back. 

She begged in her mind for Chandler to come home safely. It doesn't matter with what information. 

At this point, she only held the pillow firmly, with all her might, refraining from crying and thinking about her friend. She couldn't have died like that, could she? It was Rachel, their Rachel. Rachel Karen Green, who never gave up, who always tried and kept hope, who always helped them and had a warm heart. If she had died, Monica was sure that some part of them would have disappeared with her, unable to be reborn. 

She mean, it was... it was Rachel. Family. 

Monica stood up feeling she had to breathe more fresh air. Joey sent her a short look of warm, sad eyes that she couldn't reciprocate. Not once since the explosion of the second tower has she looked into someone's eyes. She was too afraid of what she might see there. She took an uncertain step away from the couch, leaving the apartment. 

She was terrified of what was happening on the street, and yet it wasn't so bad in this place. Some cards were flying somewhere, it was possible to feel the smoke, worse than in the apartment, but what she saw on TV was much scarier. There was no dust in the street here. She had the impression that it was harder than usual to breathe, yet it was completely normal. 

People with gloomy, panicked or crying faces passed her as she stood in the middle of the sidewalk. She noticed one person all dusty, in a dirty, dark shirt and torn trousers, who quickly entered one of the buildings next door without looking at anyone. Monica swallowed her saliva, feeling like someone was pushing her, trying to reach someone on the phone. She didn't hear an apology. 

She dared to look up. The black, absorbing cloud of smoke was reduced slightly by the fact that one tower collapsed. Her lip moved slightly when a gust of scarce wind came to her, and with it she smelled the minimal smell of smoke. In that one burning tower was Rachel; Rachel, who apologized to them for all her sins, who was probably reconciled to death, and who went through death herself, without any confirmation that anyone could hear her. 

Alone, alone in a burning, unknown building. Somewhere in the stairwell probably, along with other people who can't stand the intensity of the smoke. Monica sighed tremblingly, looking at the sides once again - there was no sign of Chandler. He went there, straight for her friend, risking his life. She was happy, and so damn scared that she could lose him. She couldn't stand the death of two people so close to her. 

In a slow step she moved backwards, then looked at the smoke hanging high in the air. Her hands were shaking a little when she opened the door again, this time entering the roof of the building, looking at the tens of taller floors of the skyscraper. She sat down at the entrance wall, leaving the door based on a dowel. She held her knees with her hands and simply watched the view. 

It was a strange feeling to see only one of the two towers. Now in the second place there was a grey, falling dust which, as she saw on television, spread to the streets. The view was devastating, but also, to some extent, hypnotizing in its power. Monica clenched her fists, she didn't even want to try to think about the tragedy that is now happening a few kilometers away from her. Nevertheless, she still looked, with a sad, bitter eyesight. 

These people aren't guilty of anything. It was an attempt on innocent people, simply fulfilling their duties at work, how could it be explained otherwise? Why did this happen? She bit her lip until she felt tears in her eyes. Her heart was still sore at the every thought of Rachel and Chandler, that even her selfish question came to mind; why today? Why not tomorrow when Chandler had work an hour later and Rachel was on the other side of city? Why was that today? 

She leaned her head against a brick wall, closing her eyes. She listened to the howling of ambulances and other rescue vehicles, confirming in her mind that with time it wasn't any better. It was a lot worse than before. 

Finally, she didn't know how much time had passed, but the dust from the collapse of the first tower disappeared, she heard bang and sounds similar to the thunder that followed. She then opened her eyelid a little wider, staring bluntly at the horror in front of her. The tower began to collapse painfully slowly, emitting a huge amount of dust and dust, almost immediately absorbing the streets and even black smoke upstairs. 

She saw exactly how something broke in the place where the plane had hit before. She saw enormous smoke and dust, and behind it the upper part of the building began to collapse. With each floor there was more smoke, with each floor more and more people on the street and on the roofs started to scream, lifeguard cars trumpeted, everywhere there was confusion. And Monica was even sure that the screams of the people came not only from this region, but also from the tower itself, which seemed to disappear and leave smoke behind. 

She saw dust emerging from far away skyscrapers, absorbing more and more of the buildings and people fleeing. Bing couldn't cry, she just watched at it in silence. The tearing pain in her heart made her want to just throw up and disappear from this world. 

She sighed, brushing her hair with trembling hands, looking at the enormity of the destruction. There were so many noises around her that she couldn't even hear her own thoughts. Someone even from her building has now entered the roof crying and looking at what was happening without paying any attention to her. 

Monica felt her whole body start to shake uncontrollably. She started breathing louder than before when a beautiful building left behind only a column of dust and destruction. She had the impression that a fungus of dirt rising up could have been comparable to an atomic bomb explosion she had recently seen with Rachel and Phoebe in rented film during one of her girls' evenings. 

Rachel. It was only at that moment, when she thought about her, that tears began to come out of her eyes again. Silent sobs came out brutally from her mouth. 

Now she was probably lying somewhere under the rubble, dead. Some concrete probably pressed her body against another one, crashing her weak bones and destroying her well-kept body, as if she was guilty of anything, as if she did something terrible. And yet she never committed any terrible sins, certainly not those for which she would have died in repentance in such a way. 

She hid her face in her trembling hands, all the time pushing her down as if she had something on her. Oh, my God! God, she was dead! Chandler, too! 

This time she screamed loudly and her voice poured out together with the other screams of the New Yorkers. No one could tell the difference between screaming or crying - all this created a collective lamentation. 

Her body was embraced by someone she didn't know who she was. She was afraid to look anywhere, so her eyes were closed, hidden under her hands wet from tears. She screamed again for the pain she felt in her heart and head as soon as any of the faces of her friends in that place passed through her mind. 

In smoke, dust, darkness and fear. 

As soon as she realized that Rachel's last words were a silent apology, Monica broke. Rachel was good. She was good in every way, she didn't deserve to die. But she died as soon as her voice fell silent and Monica threw the phone at floor. She just stopped breathing and gave in to the smoke that was in the stairwell. 

She cried harder, hitting the wall behind her with her fist. She felt pain, as if the skin from her hand had wiped off, but still struck again and again, not being interested in the pain in her bones. 

She was dead. Chandler was dead too. 

“Stop it.” Said Joey with soft voice. A roar broke out of her throat when she couldn't stop crying. She hit again, thus hitting the concrete below her and hitting until some warm hand held her hand calmly. 

“Rachel's dead.” She screamed when he embraced her gently. “Chandler's dead too!” 

She felt like the whole world collapsed under her feet. Husband and best friend were lying somewhere in the dust, not breathing. How could she stop or calm down?! 

“That's not certain.” He whispered her a little more in a nervous voice. Monica realized that his voice was choked, and when she leaned away from him, she also noticed, tearful eyes, and wet cheeks. He had pale skin, and the hand that held her hand, shaken practically like the whole Monica. 

It was hard for him too. His roommate whom he loved as a sister could die, his best friend with whom he understood without words also. He stood up slowly, also lifting Monika, who got a little weak. 

They may have been dead. Really, they could just be dead. 

Without thinking, she went with him to the exit from the roof. Leaving, she did not look back, but she tightened the hand of Tribbiani, who was leading her back to the apartment. She felt something wet on her hand and, looking at her, she gave a sigh. 

The skin on her fist was torn off, the blood was slowly flooding her shaking hand. She felt burning and pain, and when she entered the kitchen, the TV was off. She didn't know if it was Phoebe who was standing now on the balcony, or Joey who was telling her now to sit on a chair in the kitchen, turned it off, but she felt much better. She didn't want to see anything like it; she could hear the screams and signals of the vehicles on the street. The walls of the building weren't thick enough to keep the sound out. 

Joey took the first aid kit out of one of the cabinets, going up to it and without saying a word spraying her hand with some liquid, of course, reading beforehand whether it was really the bottle he was looking for. She squeaked softly when she felt itchy on her skin, and the tears came to her eyes when she realized how Chandler or Rachel must have felt suffocated in this great dust. Her friend, with strangely calm movements, began to bandage her hand without ever looking at her face. Tears were dripping from his beard, hitting the table top. 

Phoebe entered the apartment, sitting quietly next to them. She had pale skin and her facial features seemed three times older than this morning, when she warned everyone about something bad. Monica looked into the table and didn't even want to think about it. Phoebe was right about this one time. She bit her lip to stop the sobbing. 

Her cell phone was now on the kitchen counter, picked up by someone from those two. She looked at him longingly as if waiting for him to call. What would she give to hear her brother's voice! Chandler, Rachel! Anybody, really! 

“There's no signal.” Phoebe seems to have noticed her eyesight, responding to her in a quiet but firm voice. Something in her chest hurt her, but she nodded her head. “We don't know when this will be back.” 

Joey skillfully tied some strange knot, immobilizing her entire hand. She looked at him with silent gratitude, but he just packed the rest of the stuff into the medicine cabinet, hiding it back in the drawer. Monica looked down on the table and nervously knocked her foot on the floor. She didn't want to think, she wanted to do something unimportant, anything that would turn her thoughts away from the screams, fear… 

She got up and opened one of the cabinets next to the fridge. She took out a pack of sedatives from her and quickly drank them with water, then started looking for herbal tea. She knew that neither of these two would provide her with complete peace of mind, but maybe she could relax a little bit - so as not to feel the need to walk, hit, scream. 

Joey picked up a kettle full of clean water from her, probably noticing a trembling of her left hand, a little less efficient. She couldn't grab anything with her right hand right now. He turned on the gas and everyone, wrapped in the sound of boiling water, was sitting. Monica bit her lip reaching for the sedative tablets again. When will they start working? 

Phoebe looked away with her lips clenched and couldn't stand the atmosphere in the room. But both Joey and Monica knew she wouldn't go from here - what if they found out something new? If something had happened again on TV or if, what was most desired by everyone, had someone come home? 

It was known that Ross, Chandler and Rachel would be headed right here. Her brother had no reason to go home during the tragedy, he spent most of his free time here. Rachel stayed here all the time, rarely in Joey's apartment, with the rest like Joey himself, who for some reason was sitting here with his friend as if it were their home. Chandler, on the other hand, did live here and knew that everyone was here. 

Buffay finally overcame and changed her seating position from the chair to the couch, turning on the TV again - but this time much more quietly, so quietly, that Monica could hear the water buzzing in the kettle and the cries of despair of people behind the wall of the building. 

Joey flooded the tea, handed her one cup, put the other in front of Phoebe and took the third one in his own big hands. Bing did not want to look at the TV screen, but when she could not focus her eyes on her own reflection in the dark surface of tea, she shifted her eyes to this device. 

The camera was following a reporter. But it wasn't really visible, there was dark dust everywhere covering the streets, crashed cars and people. Monica quickly deduced that both of these people were somewhere at the end of the whole armageddon, as it was possible to see some bright sunshine. 

She was right, after a minute of some senseless description of the area, the cameraman and reporter came out of the dust cloud. Monica saw two people walking slowly, tired of walking away, besides the street was completely empty, not counting the heavy, grey dust. 

On the street, on the buildings and on the destroyed cars, there were some sheets of paper that probably had previously been lying in the offices of the World Trade Center buildings, waiting for someone to stamp and sign them. Monica swallowed saliva. 

They're dead. How were they supposed to survive that? They were both at the collapse of the building. 

Tears appeared in her eyes and her heart started to beat a little faster. Joey hurriedly grabbed her hand, stroking her skin with his thumb, just like Rachel always did by comforting her. She sucked air through her mouth, leaning her head back. Fucking hell! 

“Monica, they might have survived.” Tribbiani whispered to her. “You don't know 100 percent if they were there.” 

“What do you mean, I don't know?” She asked with a disappointing voice. “Chandler went after her, she was there!” 

Joey swallowed saliva, and in his red eyes she saw more and more tears and growing anger. 

“Why can't you try to believe they've taken shelter somewhere?” He pointed to the TV set, on which one could clearly see a few people coming out of the shop quickly and running away into the depths of the city. “They could be there somewhere. Don't tell me don't! We'll know everything later, now we just have to hope!” He yelled at her. 

She watched in silence as he sat next to the blonde, without paying any attention to her. But Monica kept sticking her eyes in the back of his head, only after a few minutes she moved her eyes to the table. 

Joey was right, she should stop torturing herself. She must have at least tried to believe that everything was gonna be okay. She couldn't focus on the worst, although at the same time she had to take into account the fact that it could end up simply badly. She swallowed saliva and wiped off tears with one hand. 

She got up from the table, heading for one of the seats. If it wasn't for the fact that there was a general horror outside, people were screaming, and the rescue cars were driving back and forth with the signal turned on every few seconds, she would have gone out onto the balcony. Fresh air has always helped her, although today... She took an unintentional glance at the window. The air wasn't very clean. 

They watched TV in silence while drinking their teas. After some time Monica noticed that the sedatives started to work, even though she still felt nervous and uncomfortable. She sighed deeply, finishing her tea and putting the glass on the floor. 

Some pillows and coffee table were still lying on the ground after she threw everything. At that moment she didn't have the slightest strength or even the slightest desire to correct this mess. Instead, she looked at the TV and watched the scale of destruction enveloping New York. People were all grey from dust, in some places red from blood, they were running away as far as possible. Many of them had to be carried or supported by others, the paramedics from the ambulances went out and quickly treated more severe cases, taking them to the cars and going to full hospitals. 

Her heart was squeezed at the very thought that somewhere in the midst of the hustle and bustle there were people close to her. She had no idea what Ross was doing now, probably he was comforting Susan and Ben, but she had this quiet hope that he was going to her. It was such a selfish thought that for a while she wanted to hit her head. 

Susan and Ben needed him a lot more than she. Ben could now lose his mother, Susan, her wife. Monica clenched her fists in a sudden surge of anger - she might have lost her husband and a person she might in some way consider to be a sister. 

Time passed slowly when they were watching terrifying television. There was nothing more they could do; Monica would go to the scene of the accident to look for her loved ones, but she felt so overwhelmed by this thought that she was unable to do so. All she wanted was for them to come home safely. 

But time passed, the Pentagon was attacked, the dust fell from the streets, showing a view similar to the ruins of an earlier, beautiful city, reporters informed about the number of people who survived. There was no information about the loss of population except one general one; many people lost their lives. 

The fugitives talked about terrible things happening in two now non-existent towers, also pointing out that many of them escaped from the seventy and eighty floor. No one who was higher than the explosion could escape. 

And Monica tried hard to believe that Chandler hid himself somewhere from the explosion and Rachel was taken to the hospital. Finally, she was sure that she had lost consciousness or passed out, so she had to hope that someone, some good person, had taken her out of the building. 

Bing bit her lip involuntarily, seeing the cameraman and reporter brutally thrown out of the Zero Zone. No one from that sphere came out - no one but the servants often shouting or with panic driving ambulances. 

Minutes passed, even hours passed. Monica felt nervousness and fear accumulating in her body, at some point she reached for her phone and every few seconds checked whether the range had returned. The presenter on TV told them that as soon as he got back, the hospital staff would start calling. 

When five pm. o'clock showed up on the clock, all three of them started to wriggle restlessly. Phoebe occasionally spawned her eyes, trying not to show her tears, Joey looked out the sides hysterically, clenching and loosening his fists, while she looked bluntly at the wall. 

Nobody came back. It's been about seven hours and no one's come back. Except for the last few calls, she had nothing. 

“They're dead.” She whispered quietly without looking away from the wall. The room immediately became cooler; there was no more panic or fear in her voice, instead of him there was a conviction about these words. 

Joey shakes his head fast. 

“Don't say that. Don't think like that.” He said, encountering a steel barrier of her blue, empty eyes. 

“After all these hours. Do you think they'll come back?” Monica said it, and she improved on the chair. Phoebe lowered her head, silently admitting her right and continuing to blame herself for what was happening. 

Joey looked at her with a reprimand, but also with sadness. 

“They'll be back.” He said briefly, with no dissenting vote. “Chandler's a strong guy. Ross is safe with Susan, and Rachel-” 

“Rachel's not strong.” She interrupted him with tears in his eyes. “Nor is it in a safe place.” 

“Of course she's strong!” He screamed quietly, wrinkling his eyebrows and straightening himself violently. 

Monica, not wanting to argue, simply twisted her head and turned her back to two. Rachel wasn't strong enough, maybe psychologically, but she wasn't strong enough to withstand what was happening at the World Trade Center. Her friend survived a lot, but today... she wiped tears off her cheeks. 

Rachel didn't even have the strength to lift the whole chair so Monica could vacuum under it. She knew that Rachel was the greatest thing that ever happened to her at the age of six until now. The situation with Chandler was different - at first she did not like him at all, then he was her friend and only after some time he turned out to be a great boyfriend. 

Rachel, on the other hand... she was just for her. Although Monica was definitely fat, maybe a little bit dumber and less self-confident, Rachel accepted her, chose her as her friend and has been with her ever since, comforting, helping and rejoicing her. 

But she wasn't strong. Contrary to appearances, Monica knew that even mentally Rachel couldn't stand it sometimes and then came the moment - lasting a few hours, sometimes even days. When Green was falling apart, like after she broke up with Ross. And only when Rachel first broke down so badly, when she became a fragile little person did Monica understand how hard she tried to be strong for her all the time. 

And Monica was now trying to return the favor by believing in her. But she couldn't, really couldn't keep hoping that she was alive. So she started crying. 

It took about ten or fifteen minutes for someone to enter the room. Monica almost broke her neck turning back, and then screamed, getting up and running to the door. 

“You missed me that much?” 

Her husband asked her quietly, all gray, all stinking and tired. In his voice she heard a note of strange bitterness, but she did not pay much attention to it, only sticking into his body, crying in his dirty shirt, only later noticing blood on it. But before she could say anything, Chandler hugged her with his arms, giving her a warm embrace. 

“Are you hurt?” She asked as soon as Joey, crying like a child, took her place. Her husband hugged him hard, just like Phoebe did. 

“Dude, what was going on out there?” Called Tribbiani, smudging tears all over his face. “And why are you wearing blood?!” 

Monica immediately noticed that there was something wrong. Her husband was looking at the ground when her hands were trying to straighten out the kidnapped shirt. He took a step into the kitchen, taking the unsealed bottle of water in his hand and drinking all the rest of it. Monica noticed a slight trembling of his hand, she could have blamed it on what he had experienced in the last few hours, but she felt that something else was behind it. 

With a stabbing heart, she approached him with a hug again. 

She didn't want to think about it. She felt such a powerful dose of relief and happiness passing through her body that she could not control her own body shaking, even though not once did a smile enter her face. Chandler stroke her head, hugging her and moving them lightly, like a cradle. 

“What's going on?” She asked him quietly. “Are you hurt or something happens...” 

A beam of electricity passed through her back, pushed her husband away quickly, and looked at him with pure panic. 

“You found out something about her, didn't you? What about her, where is she?!” Monica moved one step further, Phoebe and Joey were standing in a place like a bricked-up. Bing's lips have tightened up when her husband didn't answer. 

“She...” He started quietly, but her legs broke down under her. Joey didn't have time to catch her falling on the floor. She felt pain and panic creeping into her body, taking over her mind. Her heart was knocking her breast hard and painfully, her whole body was subjected to uncontrollable sobbing. 

“Mon, is not like that!” Chandler nervously said, running up to her in one step and grabbing her arms. “Mon, honey. I saw them take her to the ambulance! I swear to God! But they wouldn't let me in...” 

She looked at him with her eyes wet from tears. She heard Joey sighing loudly and Phoebe sighing something like ‘oh’ and then smiles lightly. But Monica saw something in Chandler's eyes that didn't allow her to calm down. 

“Something's happened.” She whispered, disbelieving him. “Something's happened, otherwise you wouldn't behave like this.” 

“Monica, there was a lot going on today.” He shakes his head tired. But in his eyes, deep down somewhere, she saw this grey emptiness; he hid something. Something that would be too heavy for them, or at least for her. 

“But what happened to her?” Asked Joey nervous, scattering his hands. “Chandler, tell me the truth!” 

Bing looked into his wife's eyes, helping her get up. Her eyes, like those of the other two friends, begged him to tell the truth. Only he couldn't. He didn't want to do it. 

“She was in bad shape.” He whispered. “She looked like she was dead, but she lived when they drove her to the ambulance. I tried to get to her, but they wouldn't let me in. All I was told was that she poisoned herself with carbon monoxide and lost so much blood that it was a miracle she was alive. She was completely unconscious, the ambulance with her immediately left. Then the tower colla… collapsed.” He's finished. 

Monica looked at him with shocked, big eyes. She expected Chandler to have said something about the tower on purpose to get all the attention. But she wasn't stupid, she must have known what was going on with Rachel. It was... It was her duty to stay with her, to help, to do anything! 

“What hospital is he in?” Chandler didn't feel the question coming, so as soon as she asked it, he looked at her with astonished eyes. Then she also knew he was hiding something from her again. 

“Chandler, which hospital is she in? I want to go there.” 

Joey took a step forward, waving his hand. 

“No, Mon. We can't just go to the hospital, you know how many people there are now... there are crowds.” He whispered. “We will take the place of those waiting for help.” “Then I'll go alone!” But then she turned to her husband, noticing the pain in his eyes. 

Her heart was torn apart. She didn't know what to do anymore; go to Rachel's or stay with her husband? On the other hand, he was already safe, and she… God, what happened to her? She was poisoned, alone, maybe already conscious, afraid. She bit her lip to the blood. 

“I don't know what to do.” She cried quietly, slipping down on the floor again and grabbing her hair. “I don't know what to do, God!” 

“Monica, the nurse told me that if they knew anything, they'd call us.” Her husband said nervously. “Relax, it's gonna be okay. It's gonna be okay.” 

It didn't sound like that. He sounded like he didn't believe it himself, like he _had a reason not to believe it_. But Monica felt so bad now that she didn't want to go on about it. 

She got up and everybody hugged each other. Chandler went to wash himself, she prepared new clothes for him, and they threw those in the trash right away. Luckily, her husband was not injured, so after he washed, they all sat down together tightly on the couch. Monica cuddled up to Chandler with all her strength, crying quietly in his clean sweater while he gently stroked her back. 

They waited in anxiety for anything. 

But nothing came in the next hours and when the sun went down behind the horizon, leaving them in a dark room with the TV on, they did not move. Everyone started crying and even Joey seemed to lose the slightest hope that at least the phone from the hospital would ring. If only to inform them of the death, anything. 

But... nothing happened. They cried in silence, sitting alone, for the next few hours. 

And then Monica realized that she had really lost the most precious person in her life, except for Chandler. 

Rachel _was dead_ and Chandler knew something about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be about what happened with Chandler before!


	5. The one with sleeping beauty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was able to translate the chapter earlier :)  
Enjoy!

Chandler couldn't explain the decision he made beforehand rationally for nothing in the world. Just when the smoke started to fall, turning into grayish, deep clouds of dust, he imagined sitting at Monica's side watching TV, which was now probably loud about what was happening. And he realized that he couldn't leave Rachel.

He didn't know where she was, he didn't know if she was _alive_. But he had to, he just had to, see her. To be sure of what happened to her. Otherwise, he could never forgive himself; in particular, if it turns out that she needed any help whatsoever. Chandler wasn't very good at helping, but now he'd do anything to make her feel better.

That's why he ordered Emmet to find reporters running like crazy on the streets, asking what some people feel like and where they are fleeing from. With a bit of luck, Emmet will get a couple of those people who have worked for various programs. He was supposed to tell the camera that he was looking for Rachel.

He was sure that Monica was watching TV in fear, trying to find her best friend in this terrible crowd of victims. He was just afraid that Rachel had run away safely, and now he's risking his life for nothing.

On the other hand, Emmet escaped from the seventy-sixth floor and was only here, a few blocks away. The plane crashed around the 100th or 90th, so there was little chance Rachel got out. He was on the edge when he was leaving the building with the whole crew of people who were running in the opposite direction to him, and his body was shivering.

Everything was gray. When he walked down the street, there were shoe prints left on it. Wherever he looked, it was gray; every building, every sign, every tree. Chandler could barely see anything at a distance of three meters, the dust didn't settle so much. In front of him, behind him, everywhere in the air was dust, giving the impression that he was walking on the post of the apocalyptic earth. Burned soil.

People coming out of buildings, some rushing, some barely walking, looked at him with doubt or even condemnation.

He wasn't surprised, he was more likely to be shocked by his actions.

Immoral, stupid, dangerous, unethical, ridiculous, illogical, even absurd. Monica either hugged or murdered him, he didn't know how Joey would react, Ross. Although maybe Ross will be grateful to him, at last, he confessed to him that he still loves Rachel.

If only he could bring Rachel home, everyone would be grateful to him. His wife would have probably hit him at first, yelled, but then hugged him, thanking him. At least that's what he hoped for, and in order for that to happen, he had to find his friend first.

He wasn't just doing it for his conscience. He did it for all of them. He did it for Rachel. 

So he took the tiles, trembling and uncertain breath, starting to go to the only tower standing among other buildings like the king. He saw her from here, even though she was dirty in the air - it seemed to dominate over everything and everyone.

It was always in the shades of faded blue. This time, when he looked up, he saw only a dark, smoking pillar, and dust that did not allow him to see the sky. The broken windows were clear against the background of the dirt wall; he was clearly able to see people looking and waving at each other. He stopped unintentionally for a moment, looking at these blurred silhouettes, and in his throat, an unexpected ball grew.

The person jumped.

He looked away quickly, couldn't look at it. He swallowed saliva feeling something falling deep into his stomach, hearing more and more people screams more and more often. After some time, when he resumed his step, the cry and roar of people lying on top of others, probably dead, became commonplace. Tears came out of his eyes.

The panic took over his body for a moment. What if he's the one who's about to cry over the body? Over the body of his dear, long-time friend?

He quickly twisted his head, dipping his fingers in his hair. He pulled the shaggy hairs too lightly dusted to close his eyes and curve. He couldn't think that. He couldn't doubt that she was alive.

He was sure she was alive.

The ambulances were passing every few minutes, once in one go in the other direction. He had to go down on the sidewalk when finally some fire truck honked at him for a long time, driving him into a pre-infarction state. Nevertheless, he looked at everything with a foggy gaze, unable to believe in the scale of the tragedy that was being acted upon.

He walked, looking around the streets he knew by heart, which he walked almost every day. Each one of them, each one of those now crying and fleeing people, lived in these streets.

Now the streets looked exactly the same. Greyness has taken over the whole place. He unintentionally put his hands in his pocket, shaking his head and taking them out. He must have been in a hurry! What if she was waiting for help?

So he accelerated his step, soon getting another breathlessness and colic. He turned into a street completely blocked by police vehicles. Only two people were on guard, the rest helped to remove the rubble. Somewhere near his ear, he heard a disturbing phrase.

“The second tower is about to collapse.”

It's stuck in his memory, as is the order to find his friend. What's that supposed to mean? He rubbed his face nervously, just a few steps away from the cops. They both had masks on their faces and Chandler was only now that he had no idea what happened to his own.

And it was only at that moment that the burning stench of fire and dust managed to break through his reflection. He wrinkles and coughs a couple of times feels a sore throat and a clean freeze. Without paying any attention to it, he tried to pass between the cars.

“I'm sorry.” A policeman called him right away, waving his hand. Chandler pretended he didn't notice it when he moved on. Then the other uniformed man also screamed at him. Bing only then turned around. He had no strength for another escape, and sooner or later somebody would finally catch up with him again.

“Unauthorized access is forbidden.” Said the first of them. Chandler assumed that the policeman was slightly older than him, had serious facial features, hidden under the mask, and shaggy brown hair. The blond swallowed his saliva.

“My best friend's in there.” He whispered desperate, spreading his arms. “I have to…”

“For your own safety, you should leave.” He said. Chandler suddenly shook his head.

“I can't leave her. What if he needs help? What if–”

“Qualified services are rescuing each of the towers.” He groaned with a voice that did not raise any objections. “Unauthorized access is forbidden.”

“I'm begging you.” He cried. “I can't just walk away when I know he's there!”

“Look, I don't care! You should leave for your own safety, and we'll be leaving soon.”

Chandler was shocked. He looked at the officers with a terrified look.

“What?”

“This tower will collapse in about twenty minutes, we all evacuate in ten minutes.” The first policeman shrugged his shoulders. “Look, I'm sorry about your friend. But we've been given a clear order not to let anyone in unauthorized. You should run, you can still hide at this rate.”

“Doesn't it get to you?!” He raised his voice, coughing right up.

He was scared. Completely lost, helpless and confused. He only wanted to lie down on the bed next to his wife, cuddling up to her, resting. But he knew it wouldn't happen soon, and he would have to wash and give Monika time to take care of Rachel.

He was sure that she would spend a few hours with him later, but he knew perfectly well the bond between the two women. And if one of them could die now, the other would sit by her for a long time crying and cuddling. He was fine with it.

The policeman looked at him wrong.

“Get out of here.” He heard a hard order. Bing shakes his head again, gathering all his strength to escape.

He just started running as fast as he could, the policemen shouted for him, rushing in his direction, but then it became unexpected. Some woman, trying to walk on her own, fell down right next to them. When he turned his head back to make sure he wasn't being raced, they tried to revive the black-haired.

So he ran on until he saw it - the highest tower in America. Dark, without the expression of any dignity she possessed a few hours ago. Terrifying, huge, overwhelming with the amount of death, dirt, fear of blood and fire. She was like Death herself, laughing at their hopes and miserable trials.

Seeing it in front of him, he stopped. Dark Reaper, collecting his collections with grim, insulting effectiveness.

He started to walk, seeing another person flying at an incredible speed towards the ground. He wasn't able to watch it. Instead, he watched what was happening around him.

People; screaming policemen, crying civilians, frightened firemen and barely working nurses, every now and then leaving with the next victims. He bit his lip when he saw more and more people coming out of the tower.

They were mainly firefighters with people on their hands, only sometimes someone on their own. 

He got nervous about the tower. The stench was unbearable, practically everyone had masks.

“Over here! Over here! She's barely breathing!” A man called out, carrying a woman in his arms. It wasn't Rachel.

He stood in front of the building for a few minutes, watching the escapees with a squeezed heart. Nowhere did he see a head known to him, he even started to browse through lying, slowly gathered people; they were dead. Chandler, however, wanted to find her and though he cried all the time, and his hands trembled when he looked at a bloody, dust-covered, bloody person, he kept searching.

“Critical!” Somebody called again and looked at the firefighter, almost running with a woman on his hands to one of the paramedics in the ambulance.

His legs broke underneath him. His heart stopped beating. He only heard one word in his head.

“Rachel!” The scream broke out of his mouth completely uncontrollably. Nobody paid much attention to him; now, in fact, everyone was screaming something.

“Evacuate!” Called a policeman. “We have to hide!”

The building was supposed to collapse in the next few minutes. Although he felt panic now, it wasn't for that reason; Rachel, his goddamn, true friend,_ Rachel_, was lying inertly in the arms of a firefighter. He ran to them without even paying attention to the colic, stinging in the throat and pinching in the eyes.

All he thought about was her. About her being pulled out.

The fireman put her in a long ambulance, Chandler stood right next to the open door. His eyes spread in horror, seeing the state in which she was lying.

The breathing mask was put on almost immediately. A nurse started to squeeze a bag, probably because of this she was breathing clean air. Her blonde hair was glued together with blood, her face was smeared with the same liquid, and Chandler's face became immediately sick, realizing that it was probably her blood.

The nurse led two more wounded people to the wagon, they were walking on their own, but they seemed dull and bandages were visible on their bodies. Bing didn't even wonder what was wrong with them, he looked in Green.

Her costume pants were torn apart and all gray, her white shirt was really red on her stomach. Chandler looked at the nurse with a begging gaze and a stream of tears was pouring out of his eyes. He pointed his head at Rachel lying on a special bed.

He didn't even have to say anything. The ambulance was already crowded, but she let him sit down with her. He could not even express how grateful he was to her, instead, he grabbed the cold hand of his friend.

Another thing he noticed was a big piece of glass stuck in her thigh. He stopped the vomiting reflex by looking at it and quickly realizing that it would be possible to take it out only in the hospital; here, not only was it dirty, but there were no suitable objects yet. Chandler knew that it had to be removed as soon as possible, but only in a controlled situation.

The car started with a squeak of tires and a signal activated. He wiped his eyes with his other hand, unable to hold back his tears.

He found her. Unconscious, in critical condition, but he found her.

“Is... is she?” He stemmed out looking at a nurse who was sitting stiffly in her seat. At this point, she looked at him and then at the blonde lying there.

“She's in a coma.” She said quietly, probably thinking they were close to each other. And she was right, of course.

“We have to pull the glass out of the leg, it has to be supplied with fresh air all the time. She's very heavily poisoned with carbon monoxide, it's a miracle there was no death.” Chandler trembled, nodding his head. “But I suppose it's not that serious a stage. The coma was rather due to stress and blood loss, which, by the way, she didn't lose much. More importantly, all these little things accumulated and caused the ventricle. The woman is in a serious, not critical condition, but if the glass is not removed quickly and the wound is disinfected, she will probably become infected and may die.”

Chandler breathed a sigh of relief, even smiling a little. They were on their way to the hospital. It wasn't bad. He squeezed the hand of an unconscious girl a little harder.

“I assume she'll wake up in no more than an hour, two. But it might as well happen in a couple of days.” He nodded his head again, thanking the heavens that she was not so physically ill. He clouded up realizing that Rachel could change a great deal by today. He didn't wonder who'd wonder? But it was terrible and he felt tragic about it.

They heard a bang, followed by another, louder one. The ambulance has, as far as possible, accelerated.

“It's started.” A man with a bandage on his head said gloomily. He looked into the ground, but his fists were hugging and his muscles were tense. “Our pride takes the innocent with it.”

No one commented on his words. Everyone listened to the terrifying thunder of concrete on the ground, the screaming of people and the honking of cars fleeing from the smoke, from the darkness absorbing the offspring of this country. Destroying everything that once came into being, leaving only black, fear and pure death behind.

The paramedic unveiled the curtain from the window in the door.

Chandler's seen it before and didn't want to repeat it. And yet, a big, grey cloud, taking buildings and streets with it, chased them, catching up with them more and more. He swallowed his saliva by closing his eyes and praying in silence to survive. At the same time, he squeezed the blonde's inert hand tightly.

She was so calm. The face seemed tired, harder than ever, frozen in the image of pain and fear. There are dust and fresh blood all over her body. She didn't know what was happening now and Bing was happy about it; she didn't need to see the horror, one of them she had already survived before.

And that's when the worst happened.

“Death is the end of the last and all.” The man also said, closing his eyes tightly.

The cloud reached them, the driver didn't have time to brake when it had already thrown them aside. Chandler screamed like everyone else except for one man and unconscious Rachel, when the car virtually collapsed and everything fell on them.

He closed his eyes tightly and covered his head, cringing on his seat. Just a few seconds later it was over, but he was too afraid to make any move. Tears came out of his eyes, he was terribly afraid.

The nurse next to him was moaning something, and then, apart from the terrifying noise, he couldn't hear anything. He opened the eyes of doubt slowly.

Two doctors were lying bleeding, the man was pressing the table against the wall of the car, probably so hard that his ribs broke. Chandler was too afraid to see if he was still alive.

Two rescued men were sitting inertly on their seats, the man who was talking all the time seemed happy; his lips were bending in his smile.

Only later did he feel like something was dripping on his leg. With pure panic, he observed drops of dark red liquid tracking her track and after a second he found that the wound on Rachel's leg was much deeper and the glass might have penetrated into the bone. He swallowed his saliva terrified as the blood dripped more and more.

Later he felt more fear - Earlier the paramedic was squeezing a bag that was giving Rachel air. Now the person was unconscious or dead, the bag was right next to his friend's hand. With a violent, almost hysterical motion, he grabbed her in his hand, crushing her every three seconds. He had no idea if he was doing it right, but he didn't know what else to do. He didn't stop crying.

Four people in that car were dead. His best friend was just bleeding out, but he didn't have any more hands to dress her; he was terribly afraid that if he stopped oppressing, she would stop breathing. Besides, shouldn't he have pulled out the glass first?

He shouted of helplessness, pressing his other hand against her thigh in such a way as to stop the bleeding as much as possible and not to touch the object. Blood was still spilling, even though he tried.

“Fuck, fuck!” He was screaming, looking at the window in the door every now and then.

If only this smoke had subsided, he could have run with her to some shop on his hands, anything - they always had some first-aid kits there and surely someone would have helped him. However, the smoke was completely black, and the yellowish lighting in the claustrophobic small ambulance did not give great visibility.

He screamed terrified when something hit the door of the vehicle. His hand slipped from Rachel's thigh, messing with the glass. He disappeared briefly observing how a red, painful line appeared across the entire width of his hand. It was at this very moment that he remembered the need to remove this glass from his leg. Infection! What if there's an infection?

Something pulled the doorknob, opening it. The grey smoke came into the room almost immediately, followed by a blonde woman choking on the dust. She slammed the entrance and looked around with terrified, depressed eyes - the same as Chandler had just had.

She embraced his and Rachel's shocked eyes and then looked him straight in the eye.

“Please help me.” He whispered to her. The woman swallowed her saliva and, shaking and coughing, stood up, clearly trying not to pay attention to other, unconscious people. “What... What should I do?” She asked in a hoarse, uncertain voice. Chandler opened his mouth to answer but found one important gap in the plan.

What was he supposed to do?

On the one hand, it was necessary to stop the bleeding, but on the other hand, he would have to pull out a piece of glass stuck in her leg. Did he know how to do it? Wouldn't he cut through an artery? On the other hand, he had to squeeze a funny bag, about which he would probably make up a joke if Rachel's life didn't depend on him.

“Keep pressure on it every few seconds.” He recommended it to her, giving her a bag full of air. He looked for some time with doubts about whether the woman was doing it right, but then he forced himself to look at the wound.

The glass pierced her pants and the blood glued the fabric to her skin. He bit his lips with hope, looking at the window where black was still visible.

“Do you know what street it is?” He asked her quietly.

“I...can't remember the name.” She answered. “But there's glass in the buildings, and I saw a pharmacy a few feet away before... Before…”

He nodded his head. His hands were shaking practically as much as they were shaking Emmet before. Chandler was a little jealous of him, but on the other hand, he wouldn't forgive himself if he left Rachel alone. And now he's got a chance to help her.

He calmed down his thoughts; the pharmacy. There was a pharmacy near them. A pharmacy with bandages, hydrogen peroxide and everything you need. But how long will they have to wait? Is Rachel gonna last that long?

He tried to check the pulse on her neck, but he didn't feel a thing. His heart froze, he started to press his fingers too hard. The woman looked at him with fear, with a free hand, touching his friend's wrist. She didn't nod her head until after a dozen or so seconds.

“It is.” She said what he sighed loudly, wiping tears from his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. “But he's weak and uneven. It is necessary to stop the bleeding and decontaminate the wound otherwise it will die within the next couple of minutes.”

“What?” He moaned. “How do you know that?” He asked me about the new doubts. He unintentionally pressed his hand tighter against the girl's leg, trying not to jam to the glass or pay attention to the fact that the pants were already completely soaked in liquid literally pouring out of his hand.

“I've been doing a medical rescue course lately.” She confessed with a tense voice. “But I only really know the theory.” She moved her arms helplessly. “We have to take out the glass, disinfect the wound and make a strong dressing because we are not going to sew the wound up. Otherwise, she'll die.”

That information paralyzed him for a moment. He stirred up and looked at his friend's face.

A calm, unconscious face on which dust was mixed with dried, dark blood. Her full lips, now hidden under the oxygen mask, were slightly open, dirty streaks of hair overlapped her forehead, dirtying them with a statue. Only now, when he looked at her face so carefully, did he notice that her ears were also dark cherry-colored as if they were bleeding.

“She can't die.” He said, like a small, scared child He looked up at a woman. “She can't.”

“We need to get to the pharmacy. Now.” She said, looking out the window, just like he did. “But there's no way we're gonna find the entrance.”

“Fucking hell.” He cursed quietly, but the woman didn't even pay the slightest attention to it. She was staring at the window as if the dust was about to fall down.

He started to look around the car but did not see any first-aid kit. It probably had to be used earlier - to save other people at the building. He clenched his teeth bitterly, looking at the people lying next to them.

He looked at a man with a bandage on his head. Something twisted in his stomach when he grabbed his skull, tearing the material from it. The body slid inertly on the chair as he looked at it with guilt, but then carefully applied the fabric he had acquired to the wound of his friend. The woman squeezing the bag looked at him for a moment with an unmistakable facial expression, but then she turned her eyes away to the window.

There were tears coming out of his eyes. He had never seen Rachel sleep so much; he only saw her wake up a couple of times or fell asleep. He remembered how she slept on the couch on the day she broke up with Ross, and the paths of her recent tears were still visible on her face. Monica covered her with a blanket and sat with her for a while when they left.

Later his wife told him that Green had woken up in the middle of the night and spent a few hours lying without even saying a word. Only in subsequent days, this one started to complain, forcing Monika to drink wine together in the middle of the night.

As far as he knew, once a week or less often, they continued to do so - maybe apart from crying in their arms.

Here, Rachel didn't react even when he pressed the bandage tighter to the, definitely, sore wound. She didn't notice that the car almost rolled over, she was so freaking cold.

He quickly rejected the idea, trying not to cry.

“We're gonna wait three more minutes.” A woman said quietly. “We will have to head left, hold our breath and, although it would be best to have our eyes covered, it will not work. A few meters from us there is a building, and from what I'm not mistaken, the next one is a pharmacy.”

“So let's head straight for this.”

“We can't risk holding our breath like this.” She said seriously. “We could all die.”

“But we can't waste any time either!” He almost screamed. “Once we get into the pharmacy, she might be dead!”

“Listen...”

But Chandler felt a strong impulse coming through his body. With one quick but careful movement, he took the inert body of his friend. The woman next to him was looking at what he was doing with pure shock and horror, but he almost heard a voice in his head telling him to get to the goddamn pharmacy as soon as possible.

There was a puddle of blood on the floor of the ambulance. His shoes were also in that liquid, just like his hands.

He bit his lip, quickly moving the bloody bandage onto Rachel's stomach. He pressed her thigh against his body with all his might. It made him think that Green was pretty heavy. But soon he realized that it was him who wasn't very strong.

“Stop it! You want to suffocate!?” A woman screamed at him when he opened the door with his elbow. He held his breath as she had recommended and then took a step into the darkness, giving himself to her.

With a trot, barely holding his breath, he moved to the left, walking right next to the wall. He hooked up with the first handle, which he missed without a second thought, moving quickly on. He couldn't see anything, but his eyes were still tearing and pinching him. Although he did not breathe, he felt as if dust was still entering his body. When he soon reached the next door, he was unable to open it.

With hysteria, he started hitting them with his whole body. He may not have taken any breath, but Rachel did it all the time, and the mask didn't hold her face perfectly and something got into her. The scream stuck in his throat, finally, he couldn't stand it and breathed in the air with his mouth, immediately feeling the dryness in them.

Dust stuck to his throat started coughing violently. He closed his eyes, feeling as if the pinching had increased in strength, he banged his whole body harder and harder against the door, trying to swallow saliva in his mouth, which did not help.

He wasn't thinking. He couldn't think of anything now.

He wanted to look at Rachel's face, but he couldn't force himself to open his eyes. He leaned his back against the door with no strength. He choked on dust, practically suffocated. After a few seconds, the door behind him leaned wide open. He fell painfully on the floor, feeling as if he was being pulled inside by his shoulders.

He didn't know why he was screaming and trying to get away; maybe because of his uncertainty, embarrassment? Or fear?

Less than a second later, he heard the door slamming and some voices - he couldn't even say whether it was male or female, he was too absorbed by the fact that someone pulled Rachel out of his hands. He wanted to open his eyes, which hurt mercilessly, but at the moment someone spilled water on his whole face.

He tried to wipe his eyes with his hands but was stopped by a strong grip on his wrists.

“You have to wash the blood off your hands.” A man said, and immediately afterward he actually felt the water on his hands. He dared to open his painful eyes only when someone cursed loudly.

“Oh, Jesus! She's got glass in her leg!”

And then he got up and coughing and looked around. He couldn't even describe his relief and joy when it turned out that they were in a small pharmacy illuminated by emergency lamps. The tiles were bright blue, only now apparently there was a brown, blood trail. He ran to a woman lying with some man kneeling down.

He was shocked to find that she was practically all grey. Her face, now washed in water, her hair, all her clothes, her hands... Everything was grey, even her blood was covered with dust. He looked at himself and found that he looked very similar - except for a huge red stain on his stomach, where he pressed his friend's thigh against him. He also noticed with horror that she wasn't wearing a mask.

“We need to pull it out, disinfect the wound and bandage it.” One of the three guys said it was. One of them, a cloakroom, sealed the entrance with jackets, one blond kneeled in front of him, gently wiping a woman's face from dust and blood, and the third one left quickly, looking for something on the cabinets behind the counter.

“It's better to sew it up.” He blushed blue eyes under his nose, pouring water from a bottle on a cloth and sweeping away blood-stained hair from Rachel's face. Right after that, he checked her pulse. “But I don't know if that makes any sense at all. She's so weak, I think she's...”

“Please, try it!” He said quickly frightened. “She has to live.”

The guy nodded his head as if his words were explaining everything. Satin came back from the door, leaning over Rachel.

“Is she hurt somewhere else?” He asked.

“I... I don't know.” He said helplessly. “I saw blood coming out of my ears, and earlier the nurse said that she had been poisoned with carbon monoxide.”

When he felt his hand on his shoulder, he instinctively stood up. His place was replaced by a blond with hands full of packed bandages, cotton balls, a large bottle, and scissors. He saw him pull a little box out of his armpits.

“Are you doctors?” He asked with fear.

“I don't.” The blond with the cloth answered him. He got up and threw it away somewhere. “Austin, who is here, will be finishing his medical studies with a surgeon's specialty this year, and this one…” he pointed to the coat that took his place. “Martin. He works at this pharmacy.”

He nodded his head fast. He trembled unintentionally, and some undefined anger and uncertainty crashed through his body as he watched Martin cut through his pants around the wound. He knew it was necessary, but felt strangely watching someone expose Rachel's skin so close to his hips. However, the man seemed not interested in the smooth skin of Green but only began to peel off the material very slowly from the wound.

Chandler's esophagus retreated as he looked at his friend's ragged skin as the pants slowly detached from the skin, stretching it and reopening the wound. Blood spurted when he finally managed to do it.

Bing felt weak, especially when the blond looked at the wound with critical eyesight.

“I don't know if we can save her.” He said loud enough for him to hear. “It looks serious, it's not a hospital to have a specialist…”

“Do what you can.” He whispered, with his eyes depressed, going back under the counter. “I'll still be grateful to you.”

Two men nodded their heads without even looking at him. The third of them approached him and gave him a plastic cup with water and some eye drops.

“Apply them to yourself and move your eyes to all sides, it should rinse out the rest of the dust.” He told him, heading for Rachel with some rags.

Chandler wiped his hair powerlessly. He looked out the window - the dust did not fall down, although it became slightly less black. Then he looked at the clock on the wall. Eleven o'clock five. On Sunday, at this hour, he was still lying in bed. He couldn't believe that now he had gone through an evacuation, a double change in his conscience and safety, two building collapses, an ambulance escape, an accident, suffocation, and now even looking at a half-dead Rachel's operation on the floor by unskilled people.

He felt like he'd never be able to sleep again until eleven o'clock.

He looked at the men slowly pulling the glass out of Rachel's thigh with horror. It was painful, it looked terribly painful and terribly. Her skin rolled up strangely, blood spurted on three people and even somehow to the sides, and he was absolutely sure that even he would pass out in pain - but Rachel was completely unconscious.

He watched her lose her blood, her face fades more and more from minute to minute. His hands were shaking like his legs, he stood a few steps away, just watching.

The glass was thrown to the ground, about a meter from him. It was covered in blood, just like the floor under the men.

“Oh, fuck me.” Austin's leaked. The third guy, whose name he didn't know, put all the rags he had in his hands on her. He watched in horror as in less than thirty seconds they all turned bloody.

Martin poured half of the contents of the bottle onto some gauze and started to wash it all away. Blood was still flowing from the wound, maybe in a slightly smaller amount than before. Two blonds moved backward as Rachel's leg was being toweled down by his dressing gown.

Martin looked at Chandler. 

“We decontaminated the wound, but it's been so much blood that I don't think it's gonna do any good.” He whispered sadly towards him, not looking him in the eye.

But Chandler's eyes began to tear unexpectedly, and his lips trembled uncontrollably. He sat down leaning his back against the counter, hid his face in his hands and bit his cheek hard enough not to allow himself the loud scream of the loser.

So what if he risked his life earlier? So what if he saw Rachel and went to the hospital with her? So what if she was dying anyway? And in front of his eyes?

He sighed trembling, not hiding his crying anymore. He discovered his eyes and watched Austin's fingers from among his fingers as he approached him, probably trying to sew the wound on his friend's leg, as Martin gave him some things and as the third man looked at it calmly, waiting for him to be able to gently wash the stitched skin.

Soon after, Austin, without any emotion, moved away and stood up looking at the woman. Chandler looked at her, too, and he thought she was dead. He felt strong pressure in his chest, so strong that he took his breath away, he also thought for a moment that something was twisting in his belly.

Martin took her wrist wood in his hand, trying to feel her pulse. Then he touched her neck and waited for a few seconds, soon getting up.

“Her pulse is so low, she's not gonna make it.” He whispered to Chandler's bitterness.

Bing got up quickly, falling on his knees just in front of her calm face. She did not show any pain - as if she did not feel anything, as if she did not want to say that she was dead. She hasn't been there yet!

He cried over her, stroking her twisted, rough hair from blood and dust. Fuck, she was so innocent! What did she do, why was she lying here now?!

“Fuck, fuck!” He was screaming over her face, and his tears were dripping at her hair and forehead. He didn't get any reaction, which only depressed him.

He gently lifted her head to her knees and her lips slanted slightly. He cried all the time and couldn't even tell how he felt; it was as if someone suddenly decided to jump on his heart, which stabbed him more and more strongly and faster. He rolled his fingers over her cheeks and hugged her head.

“Don't die, Rach.” He cried right into her ear. “Please, what will happen to us? And Monica?”

He didn't know how much he cried. However, he soon heard three men apologize once again and leave the room. He looked at the windows, seeing the same grey in the street as before. The dust settled, leaving everything a few inches underneath it. He struck a fist-clenched tile covered with a thin layer of his friend's blood.

His furious scream turned into a silent sob when he tried to check his pulse. He didn't want to crush her wrist, so he did it lightly, almost with an anointing. At the same time, he looked at her sleeping face all the time and, shaking all the time, he stroke her again.

With dull eyes, he opened another pack of bandages, tying one on his hand, cut by glass. After the fact, he realized he hadn't disinfected the wound. He cursed himself, looking stealthily at his friend's frozen face, crying unintentionally.

He sat down at the crossroads, slowly pouring hydrogen peroxide over the slit. He swears loudly and washed away the fresh blood. He put on a bandage again, wondering if he shouldn't tie her legs somehow. Such unprotected seams were susceptible to all impurities, and he was sure that the air was swarming with them.

He bit his lip nervously, rubbing his eyes. He went behind the counter looking for any wrappers with bandages. When he found them, he carefully lifted Rachel's leg in his knee, praying that the seams wouldn't break. The very sight of them was horrible, ugly, and completely unfit for her.

Holding her leg in a bend, he began to wonder. How to tie it up? Lightly, tightly, on the pants, underneath them? His hands were shaking when he took off her trousers with cautious movements, trying to look at her body as little as possible. A whistle of air leaked out of his mouth when he managed to bend the fabric properly so that it did not touch the seams.

He grabbed the bandage and started to bind her thigh tight enough to hold her and light enough not to press the wound. With scissors that were still lying under his feet, he cut the fabric and tied it tightly so that it would not be destroyed.

Then, still not looking at her friend's exposed body, he carefully stretched her pants.

When he was sitting next to her, he remembered Monica involuntarily. The very thought of what happened to Rachel was creepy and his heart and stomach hurt him mercilessly, only reminding him of his friendship with Green. He didn't know how his wife would react to the news of what happened today. He didn't want to talk about it, he didn't even want to think about it, for God's sake!

But he knew that Monica would demand anything about him; what happened, how he did the dressing, where he found her, why for so long, where they were... Chandler already felt too shocked and uncomfortable, let alone during the conversation.

He looked at Rachel's face.

What if she dies? What's he gonna say to Monica then? That he found her, that he tried to save her, but she stopped breathing on his hands? He cried, hiding his face in his dirty hands from the blood on the tiles. He didn't want her to die, he didn't want to explain himself to anyone, was it his fault?

He took her wrist with a trembling hand and checked her pulse again, waiting for a few seconds. When he felt nothing at all, he froze for a moment without even daring to take a breath. His panicked gaze flew to the girl's face, and the other hand started hysterically hitting her cheeks. Her head leaned sideways without reacting.

Chandler put her head on her knees again, constantly moving her body.

“Rach, don't do this to me.” He moaned loudly, surrendering to uncontrolled sobbing. “Rach, please, you can't die!”

But she was still lying there, all pale and dirty, without any sign of life. He checked her pulse again, then, again and again, each time crying more and more loudly and losing hope more and more.

Eventually, he leaned his head back, looking at the ceiling with his sorrowed eyes. His fingers involuntarily smoothed Green's hair while he breathed deeply, twisting his face in pain. The clock on the wall indicated 12:30 p. m.

He didn't know what to do with Rachel. She was really dead.

He was supposed to take the body? Was he supposed to show them to Monica? He was sure it would kill her. It was enough just to know that Rachel was dead; surely his wife would barely be able to handle it, and Chandler really didn't want to make things worse. He swallowed his saliva, carefully putting Rachel's head on the cold tiles. He stood up and moved away from her body, looking lost in the windows, into the street.

He heard the ambulances, but they had to take different lanes. People didn't go this way either, so when he looked at the woman again, he sighed out of helplessness.

He didn't want to make things worse with Monica. He didn't want to confess to his friends what happened. He never wanted to mention what he just went through.

“I'm sorry, Rachel.” He whispered devastated, just in case, checking again the pulse and breath, which he could not feel on his skin. Maybe he should have done a CPR scan. He realized it was too late for that. He hit the wall with all his might. Fuck, if he had thought before, she might have survived! She could breathe now!

He screamed at the whole pharmacy, kicking his feet in the counter and throwing some medicine off the shelves. Fucking hell! Fuck, fuck!

He breathed, he didn't know whether he was more angry, terrified or broken. One of his closest friends died because of him. He's the reason Rachel died right now, if he helped her, started CPR, she'd be alive! God, she'd be alive!

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry.” He whispered quietly to her, smudging tears on his face. “I'm sorry, I'm really sorry! I didn't mean to, I...” His voice broke when he walked around the room quickly. Then his eyesight fell on that peaceful face. He could not imagine that she would never see those blue, bright eyes again, that she would not sink into her wide, beautiful smile, that she would never cuddle up to him, that he would never hear her voice again.

He threw a pack of pills against the wall. The box dented into himself, but he didn't think about it, only kept throwing the next ones into the same place. His head started to hurt, his throat felt a growing stew, and in his stomach, something was dancing when all the medications at hand ran out. He breathed deeply and unevenly, but then looked again at a woman lying a few steps away from him.

_She was so calm._

Her lips were slightly parted, her skin was pale, soiled but still beautiful. _She_ was beautiful. 

This morning, this morning, it was so perfect. Cold, sunny, even he was in a good mood.

And she was in a great mood. Her eyes were glowing cheerfully, her smile was improving the atmosphere, her perfect hairstyle, make-up, and clothes complemented her charm.

Now she was lying all dirty from blood and ash, in a torn costume, with ruined, dirty hair, blurred makeup. Without the shadow of a smile, without previous excitement and happiness. He approached her, but her skin was all cold, her head was tilted, and her pulse did not appear anymore.

And he will never see it again. He would never have a perfect morning, he would never see _her_ smile again. 

With a clumsy, crying and slightly hysterical motion, he kissed her forehead, and his last tears fell on her face. He put some bloodstained cloth on her face. He groaned when he did it. He couldn't believe he did it. 

“I'm so sorry, Rach.” He whispered to her, slowly going to the door, looking at her body with the silent hope that some finger, whatever, would move.

_She was so beautiful._

Then he wiped off his tears, opened the door and went out with a huge sense of guilt, starting to run towards the house.

He killed Rachel today. Today he destroyed the life of this wonderful creature and did not even think about whether anyone would forgive him. Monica couldn't have known, Monica should never have known. But she'll find out and it scared him, as well as the nightmares that will follow him for years to come.

He'll never forgive himself. He _killed_ her.

And he would never see her smile again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last part will appear soon.  
I have a question - would anyone else like to read any of my other work?


	6. The one with the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter. I hope you like it:)

Suddenly she choked the air. She didn't know how to explain it, she didn't really know what happened, but suddenly she took a breath, almost suffocating on the amount of air she was able to catch.

All her senses came to her at the same time. All this horror, a sudden force to move her body, to open her eyes, in front of which she saw only some material. And the pain. The pain she almost screamed through, barely turning it into a moan.

Everything in some way pinched, itchy and painful her. She felt as if she hadn't moved in over a week, her neck and back were on some stone, and her leg… Oh, God! She felt like something was tearing her apart!

She groaned, slowly taking the cloth off her face. Above it, there was a lamp that shone poorly in a yellowish color. Where the hell was she? She was overwhelmed by an incredible fear. She looked around panically, noticing that she was lying on some tiles. On her left side, she had a puddle, still fresh, dark red blood, soaking her pants and white shirt. She widened her eyes, involuntarily immersing her numb, trembling, dusty fingers in it.

She noticed a hole in her pants and a gray bandage underneath. She cursed panicked. Then she remembered what had actually happened.

She remembered how she was getting ready for a promotion in the morning. She talked to Monica and Phoebe, then for a moment also to Chandler, and then went out on the crowded streets of New York, hoping that she would not be late as usual for her regular work. Then she got excited and a little scared when she reached the huge skyscraper, taking two elevators to the 80th floor, looking astonished at the number of people working in the building. But what could be expected from such a big, organized and multi-tasking place?

Then she admired the beautiful view from the tower, she started to present the plan to some man... She thought his name was Stephen, and then all the good feelings turned into stupor, horror, and powerlessness when something exploded over them. 

She had no idea what it was, really. But at some point she lost her hearing and couldn't move, Stephen had to push her into the stairwell to save her life. She will never forget the view she noticed when walking down the stairs; burning, falling people. And that's where she stood only a few seconds earlier.

Tears appeared in her eyes, almost immediately flowing down. In slow motion, she brought her hand right next to her ear and tried to snap her fingers. She bit her lip when she couldn't make it through the blood, which she rubbed into her shirt nervous. At that moment she did not care about destroying the clothes - they were in an unrepairable condition. Trying again, she almost screamed out of happiness. She heard it, she really heard it!

She breathed poorly, trying to look behind. But her neck hurt her too much, as did her leg, which she was afraid to move. Instead, she tried to lift herself on shaking hands, immediately falling down with a loud moan. At the same time, she cried out of helplessness and bitter laugh.

Someone bandaged her but left her here to her fate. She closed her eyes, trying to force herself. She tried to sit down a few more times, but all the time she felt so much pain and weakness that she finally gave up, lying in her own blood and crying.

Smoke, gray everywhere. The smelly stench of fire, darkness.

She was afraid when the image from before her evacuation appeared in her head... She did not know how much time had passed since her evacuation. Unsuccessful, anyway - probably some good person took her out of the building, but she had no idea how she got here. What was that street? What was that place? What time was it? 

She looked at her left hand, with the other hand revealing a crumpled, grey from dust, sleeve. The watch appeared to be broken but was still working. It was less than half an hour after six o'clock.

She froze for a moment, realizing how much time had passed. After all, what time did she start presenting the project - after eight o'clock? She took a trembling, uncertain breath, this time forcing herself to sit down.

When she rose up on her arms, a silent scream of pain broke out her mouth. Her head and leg literally occupied her whole mind with their stabbing, while she only wanted to sit down. Finally, after another attempt, she leaned against a cabinet and turned her head aside with crying. 

Everywhere there were scattered some boxes and bottles with medicines, not far from it there was even some unsealed one, from which something was still dripping. A puddle of blood dragged on her, leaving a smudged, ugly trail.

Everywhere there were scattered some boxes and bottles with medicines, not far from it there was even some unsealed one, from which something was still dripping. A puddle of blood dragged on her, leaving a smudged, ugly trail.

The shelves and walls were white, the counter was surrounded by glass, behind which some other medicines were visible. On her counter, there was a wide-open first aid kit, but there was only some gauze left in it. The pharmacy was located in a ruined, dirty pharmacy, in which she had some provisionally made dressing.

Rachel looked horrified at shaking hand as she touched her thigh. She did it as gently as she could, but the pain was so incredibly strong that she cried quietly. Looking at the blood on the floor, it couldn't have been so good with her.

She searched amongst scattered boxes for some kind of headache medicine and the first one she saw, was around two meters from her. She tried to reach him with her other leg, which turned out to be far too short. She looked the other way.

The windows overlooking the area were a little dusty, but she was probably most terrified by the condition of the street and other buildings she was able to see. Literally nothing, nothing, not even trees, had their normal color. Everything she managed to embrace from this angle was completely gray, just like her clothes and hands.

Dust left nothing to look at. 

She swallowed saliva opening her mouth and watching this rare, terrifying sight. She had never expected to experience anything like this in her whole life; whoever left her here with a white cloth on her head must have thought she would not succeed. From time to time she heard alarms and signals from fire trucks, police and ambulances. Every time she hoped that someone would cross the street, but it seemed unused.

She tried to find anything that could help her bring her medication to herself. She noticed only a small, half-empty bottle of water, which stood as if nothing more than a few inches from her, right next to all the red rags, probably dirty from her blood.

When she saw them, she wondered how it was possible that she was still alive. Already in the skyscraper she felt severe pain in her leg, so she assumed that since then she was bleeding, more or less. Although she was not sure about what time she was here, maybe it was a short time after the explosion, but how could she know?

Her teeth tightened so tightly on her lip that she bit her. She lay down in a different position, reaching for the pills. In her mouth, she felt the metallic taste of blood spreading quickly through her mouth, tears came out of her eyes, her leg hurt so much that she screamed anyway, unable to stop it.

She closed her eyes trying to find the pillbox with her fingers. She didn't think that one move would give her so much pain and, contrary to appearances, tiredness. Feeling the liquid on her back, which was blood from the floor, she quickly realized that she felt so weak because of the loss of blood in the body. She took the tablets in her hand and, making sure she grabbed the right package, started unpacking it.

Her eyesight went from trembling, fighting with plastic package, hands, to the water standing right next to her healthy leg. She twisted her foot and somehow kicked it to herself, with difficulty catching the bottle until it rolled past her. Still lying down, she swallowed three tablets nervously and drank them greedily with water. She knew that taking a lot of medication wasn't good, but now all that mattered to her was to relieve the pain in her leg and head.

She didn't close the bottle because her hands couldn't point the cap at the right place. She was lying on the floor for some time, looking at the window with hope as if someone was about to come in and help her. 

Nothing like that happened. How much she'd give for Monica to wake her up from that nightmare.

And suddenly there was a thrill running down her back when she remembered her friends. With a nervous move, she started searching her pants pockets, not finding her phone, instead quickly realizing that even her fingers were hurting her when she moved them. Feeling tears on her cheeks, she wiped them, feeling as if she was blurring only the blood and dust on her face. She put her hands helplessly on her stomach, having no idea what to do. Her leg was tearing her apart, her head was stabbing with blunt pain, and she was so weak that she could barely move.

She had to go home. To Monica, Joey, Phoebe, probably Chandler and maybe Ross - She didn't know if Bing managed to get to work in time, honestly, she had no idea at what time he went there, whereas Ross could stay with Ben, probably in the house of Susan and Carol.

Oh, she hoped everyone was safe! That Monica was sitting at home with Phoebe and Joey without worrying too much about her. She involuntarily sniffed knowing that Monica was probably going out of her mind; her friend and husband (probably) were in danger. Rachel knew Monica well enough to almost see her crying on the couch in front of her eyes.

She took a powerful breath, trying to change her position back to the one under the shelf. She managed to do it in the fifth attempt, practically screaming in pain. She looked blankly at the clock on the wall, trying to figure out how many minutes the drugs would start work on her. 

She was damn hungry. She was also cold, she felt like she was going to faint, she couldn't breathe normally. She had the impression that something in her lungs or nose wasn't working, not letting her enjoy the air to the full - although maybe she was just breathing in too much smoke, which was likely.

She spent an hour in the seat. She had to swallow the painkillers three more times so as not to moan from the multitude of pain and weakness she felt. But when it was 5 pm thirty, she realized she had to at least try to get out of that fucking pharmacy. She had to find some normal help, not pain meds. 

And her friends. She hoped they weren't stressed too much, after all, she was almost fine. She probably had some heavy bleeding scratches on her leg, and besides… well, she didn't have much strength, and her head hurt, but it wasn't enough to discourage her. So, crouching and groaning, she grabbed a shelf above her and tried to pull herself up.

Sport, apart from the role of the main cheerleader in high school, of course, was not her strong point. She could be flexible or even fast, but in this case, it didn't help her much - it actually gave her as much as nothing. She managed to lift up the second time, but leaning all her weight on the cabinet and one leg, she felt as if she was about to lose consciousness. In front of her eyes darkness appeared, she was shaking, barely holding her head upright, and her head was pulsating despite pain relievers, all the time intensifying pain. 

_Don't faint until you're home, stupid._

She took a trembling breath, combing her dirty, blood-stained hair. Feeling like she was losing her balance, she grabbed the shelf again with a hysterical motion.

Her legs were shaking like they were made of cotton wool. So did her hands, which she clenched tightly on the edges of the shelves. She felt the pulse in her wound too clearly, her heart was beating so fast that she thought about the heart attack for a second, and in her ears, the sound of blood, combined with suppressed explosions and squeaking, was throbbing. 

_Darkness, fear, silence._

She had the impression that the room was a bit stuffy. She started to breathe deeper and faster, terrified of her condition, but almost immediately she rebuked. She should breathe evenly, slowly.

She closed her eyes trying to focus, but then she got dizzy. Opening her eyelids she saw how everything dances before her eyes, medicines, floor, walls mixed into one. Something fell down in her stomach and her right hand fell from the locker, which almost made her fall down. She was getting sick, she felt like there was blood everywhere. “God.” She whispered to herself, swallowing saliva. 

She had no idea what happened to her, but it wasn't good. She looked around the moving room, finding something similar to crutches behind some glass on the other side of the pharmacy. Thinking little, she began to go in his direction, but as soon as she put her bandaged leg on the ground, it bent underneath her, and the pain made her scream. Tears of helplessness came out of her eyes.

She had to go home. To friends. 

She started to walk at a turtle pace all the time holding onto the cabinet, and the whole world was spinning before her eyes, assuring her that she shouldn't move at all. But nobody walked down this street, nobody would find it here, and she wouldn't regain her strength by herself. So she went for the crutches, and every blink she stopped thinking she was gonna throw up. 

She reached them in 30 minutes. In the back of her head, there was a sight of her worried friends who didn't know if she was alive or not. She hoped they wouldn't do anything stupid and go nowhere to look for her, now Rachel only wanted them to be safe.

_Don't faint. Not now, not here. Do it at home._

She just wanted to get there and lie down on a comfortable couch in her old apartment. After all, despite the time she spent with Joey, Monica's apartment has a special place in her heart, this is where she lived for six years. She loved comfortable armchairs, loved the kitchen and the wonderful couch she used to sleep on when she didn't have the strength to move to her room.

That's where she talked to Phoebe and Monica at women's evenings, that's where she sat when she broke up with Ross, that's where the couch was her place. 

So she never dreamt of anything now but to lie down on it and give in to her blissful dream, next to her friend stroking her back with calming movements.

Her trembling fingers tried to open the glass door, but they were probably locked. Involuntarily, another dose of tears appeared in her eyes when she hit the glass with all her might, causing herself only pain and lack of strength. 

She started hitting it harder and harder, and after a few times, she couldn't catch her breath, barely falling on her knees. “Fuck, fuck!” She screamed quietly, looking through tears at the crutches. 

It would certainly make it easier for her to walk, maybe she hasn't had much strength in her arms yet, but walking slowly she should be able to withstand the pain. Shaking her head, she took a deep breath and for the last time, she hit the barrier with all her strength, not counting the suffering of the rising one.

A scratch appeared in the glass, which she enlarged after the third blow, and after the eighth one completely destroyed - the glass broke into pieces injuring her right hand, thus giving out a suffocated scream. Her pupils spread slightly in horror as she watched her whole hand start to turn red, pinching and stinging.

In slow motion, she grabbed the crutches, taking them in both hands. She clenched her fingers on the handles hissing in pain as the wounds on her hand spread, and the blood flowed more and more densely, flowing down the shoulders of the object. Her hands were shaking as she slowly moved forward. 

She was sure that behind the counter there were some bandages, anything that wasn't dirty yet and could help her. In addition, there were the most powerful painkillers, which she needed now more than ever. It took her twenty minutes to sit on some hard stool, putting the crutches behind her and breathing deeply with fatigue.

She looked out of the window at a destroyed street, covered with a large layer of dust, not being able to believe what happened today. One explosion made the New York City life center look like this. Or maybe it wasn't really gas? Maybe it was something more serious. She had no strength to think - the pulsating pain in the three parts of her body deprived her of the desire to think about the tower explosion in any way.

She bent a little forward-looking at a pile of bandages in one of the cabinets. In front of her, there was a bottle signed as salicylic spirit, she was not sure if it was good preparation, but the picture clearly showed some man disinfecting the wound. She was looking at her hand, or rather at the blood, all the time spilling out of the wounds. She swallowed saliva.

She was never good at medical stuff, Monica was always the one who saved her from oppression.

She rubbed her hand against her shirt, for the first time she didn't care what happened to her clothes, and then with her left hand, she grabbed the bottle and poured half of the contents onto the other one. She screamed loudly, and tears appeared in her eyes, quickly flowing down her cheeks. Again she dizzied her head and had to lean against the tabletop, otherwise, she would have fallen to the ground, and from there she would not have stood up. 

Biting her lips to the blood, she started to put on the swabs crookedly and then tried to tie a bandage on her hands in a sensible way, helping herself with her teeth. In fact, it didn't look good, she couldn't even create a knot. She sighed with tears, still trying to do something.

She didn't know how much time had passed, but in the end, she was at least a little satisfied. Her hand was still pinched her, she didn't know if she had decontaminated it badly or if it was supposed to be like this.

The bandage did not hold up very well, it actually gave her great freedom of movement and a high probability of blowing up in the next few minutes, but at least her wound was somehow protected from dust. She felt a little better. She wasn't dizzying and her strength was gradually returning, although she still felt tired after a few hand movements. 

She opened all the cabinets, but she couldn't see any strong painkiller anywhere that would do anything for her leg. Suddenly, however, her eyes were caught by an orange, dark and quite large bottle, hidden behind another glass. With a blink of an eye, she quickly realized it was Percocet. He was a drug, but he had a great effect on pain.

She's seen more than once how people with special prescriptions buy it for a lot of money. She grabbed one crutch in her hand and with loud moaning, stabbed it end in the glass. She repeated the movement several times until it broke and she saw the darkness in her eyes again. 

Her breathing became fast and uneven, she put her head on the counter, trying to calm the beating heart. Her muscles were tearing her apart, she didn't have the strength to move a single hand. 

_Don't faint until you're home!_

She closed her eyes, feeling very tired. She listened to the TV and Monica trying to teach her the basic principles of OSH that she should never fall asleep in such cases. But she did it today and got away with it, and all her wounds were now bandaged and disinfected - she needed rest. She closed her eyes slowly and, sighing, went to sleep.

She woke up at 10 p.m. 

She felt, she just felt how Monica would strangle her for what she did. Rachel stretched her back in slow motion, whining in pain. It wasn't about a bad sleeping position; her leg made itself known, and her head was bursting. 

Thinking little, she reached for the previously won Percocet bottle, putting four tablets in her mouth. She was hoping to numb her enough to get her home wherever she was. It was thirty minutes after 10 p.m. when the drugs started to work and she literally lost the feeling of pain in anything. Despite this, she was incredibly weak and barely stood up, taking bullets in her hand and moving to the door. 

She swallowed her saliva opening it with back and looking around in the street. A few meters from her there was an ambulance, but it seemed to be broken. She also had a strange impression that she had been there before - maybe in this car were the rescuers who brought her here and treated her? Then why did they suddenly leave, leaving her? She bit her lip.

There was no light on the street. There was no light in any house either, and for the first time in her life she could experience the feeling of total peace and quiet in New York City - it was so unimaginably quiet that it was terrifying. The wind wasn't blowing, there was no living soul in any café that was closed. 

She stood alone on a huge street, listening to her uneven, weak breath and looking around, looking for any point of reference to where she was. It was so dark that it was the dust that somehow illuminated the street in some strange way. She saw practically nothing, although in the background she was able to see the Museum of American Finance. She swallowed her saliva nervously. 

She was on Wall Street, but in that case, just above the buildings opposite her, there should be visible World Trade Center towers.

But she couldn't see any of those towers.

She straightened up a little bit, quickly headed for the house. She couldn't think about it now, she had to get home, and she didn't know how long the drugs would hold. If she wasn't mistaken, she had two miles to her apartment, and the taxis rarely went out at night. 

She put her crunches carefully because she was afraid she'd run into some crack in the sidewalk. She was sure she wouldn't recover for the next few hours despite the pain meds. She walked down the street barely breathing. She based on one of the walls of the buildings. Somewhere far away, blue police light flashed, disappearing behind a building. 

She stood quietly, putting crunches against a wall and wiping her face with one hand. The second hand bandage was completely unraveled and now it was hanging from her hand inertly.

Her legs were shaking again. She had to rest, she wanted to go back to sleep. But she couldn't just go to bed, besides she had to take advantage of the fact that she felt only weakened and nothing hurt her. 

She coughed up loudly, grabbed the crutches and went home again, feeling the earth collapsing under her feet. Her eyes were closing spontaneously, and only the fact that she was walking and that she was going home made her cope. Hands supported the whole weight of the body on unfortunate balls, in her wounds on the palm of her hand the handle was hammering more and more tightly, causing discomfort. Moreover, after a short time she felt something cloudy in her bandages, and paying attention to her hand, she managed to notice only red in the darkness.

Blood poured from her wound almost as smoothly as it did from a twisted tap, soaking in bandages and falling on crutches, and soon on the ground. She involuntarily tried to move faster, but she was unable to do so - her heart was beating unnaturally fast in her chest. Her blank eyesight went to the next corner.

To get home, she had to go through half the city. She didn't want to think about it, but with each step she was less and less willing to come back, she just wanted to fall asleep, no matter how cold she was on the sidewalk.

From time to time she saw some rescue vehicles going in the opposite direction to her destination - but each one of them drove a few streets further away. At the same time, she wanted someone to stop and help her, but on the other hand, it would have meant crossing three blocks unnecessarily, dramatically extending her journey home if she hadn't been helped.

So she went, from time to time, stopping to take a few breaths or wipe her face to wake up, messing it in blood and dust.

She met the first man on Thomas Street. He was some young man, a blond, who, as soon as he saw her, ran to her. He seemed energetic, his voice was quite warm, just like the eyes in which she noticed additional compassion. She lowered her eyes down, not looking any further at his face. She was kind of embarrassed…?

She didn't know what to call it, but she wanted to avoid any contact with him. He didn't seem to notice it though.

“Do you need medical attention? Water, food?” He asked me quickly. She leaned over the crutches, taking the next steps forward.

“No, no.” She picked up a voice that wasn't at all like her normal. It was dry, tired and full of bitterness; quiet, snoring. 

“I see you're bleeding.” He followed her, pointing to her hand. “Let me help you, please. I'll treat it and you can leave, although if I were you, I'd rest…”

“I'm fine.” She refused again.

She wanted to rest. She wanted her bandage on her hand to be properly bandaged, she wanted it. But it would take her a while and the drugs could stop working. Then she wouldn't move anymore, and she doubted he would have had any more pills of this drug with him. And then she guesses he'd have to take her to the hospital - she couldn't allow it.

“How about some water? I can see where you're coming from, usually, people wanted to drink.”

She wanted to ask how the hell he could know that. Later, she came to the conclusion that she was covered in blood, that her body was in dust and that she behaved like a sick person. She bit her lip, stopping to go for a moment, but not having the strength to turn her front to the guy. 

She was hungry. Very hungry, but she didn't have time to eat. Drinking a sip of water was another matter, a quicker matter. “Give me some water.” She said vaguely, leaning her bar against the wall of one of the buildings. 

The man approached her quickly, nodding and handing over a small bottle of water he had in his pocket. She leaned her crutches against the wall, grasping a gift in her hand and drinking greedily.

“Earlier, a lot of people stood in the streets and waited for the escapees.” He started talking. “A few hours ago, fewer and fewer people were coming back from the zone. So we were going home too. My friend's three blocks from here, and you can have a drink from him too. Or have you seen someone in need? I can run, I can help…”

She turned her head sideways, giving up the empty bottle. The man smiled shyly. “Since I've been going, I haven't seen anyone.” She whispered in a cleaner voice. “Thank you for the water.”

“Oh, no problem. I hope you get home safely, I won't bother you anymore if you don't want help. Goodbye.”

He left, leaving her alone again. Taking a trembling breath and closing her eyelids, she grabbed crutches and started to go further in her direction. There were tears all the time on her face - her stomach began to starve her to death some time ago, but now the feeling is stronger.

She passed by a small Two Hands café where she used to have dinner with Monika when she was going through her marriage crisis with Chandler. Rachel's lips involuntarily twitched upwards, but without daring to go further than a millimeter. Chandler turned out to be a wonderful man, _not a gay man_, a valued friend and a wonderful husband, as her friend said. 

Her hand moved sideways. Almost immediately, to her horror, the crutches followed it, and she hit a wall with the front of her body. She moaned loudly, trying to move to a vertical position, but her legs were shaking so much that she fell to the ground.

Her scream of surprise, pain, and helplessness was carried along the street. Her arm was leaning against the building, the right part of her body was lying on a cold pavement. She felt like her hand was burning with live fire. Raising it in front of her eyes, she saw only the red, shining in moonlight blood. Every single finger was shaking. She felt panic. Pure panic.

The bandage slipped on her hands spontaneously, staining her white, torn shirt with blood. Blood flowed from small, thin wounds, dirtying her wrist and whole arm, but she couldn't do anything. She watched as the remains of her pale skin fade under the red layer and even though it was just a hand, she felt like she was about to bleed out. Especially after how much blood she lost in that strange pharmacy where she woke up.

_Blood. Stench. Silent._

She smelled that suffocating smell of fire again, she had the impression that she was lying on the tower staircase again. Even though she was really in the middle of New York Street, she couldn't hear anything but her own shallow, hysterical breath. Tears from her eyes began to flow uncontrollably. She felt so weak, so bad, that she unintentionally touched her face, in the tide of fear. 

_You shouldn't be fainting until you get home. Not here._

Suddenly she heard some steps, actually, someone's running. She raised her panicked eye from her hand, seeing some dark figure looking around in the middle of the street.

“Oh, God!” Said person, noticing her. She watched a black-haired man approach her, putting her hand off her face. “Please don't do that.” He whispered and started washing her hand in water from the bottle. Feeling the cold liquid on her wounds, she pulled her hand out of his grip. 

“Give me the crutches” She came to her senses. It's been a long time since she left the pharmacy. The drug could have ended at any time. 

“I'm trying to help you!” He shouted quietly with condemning eyesight.

“Give me the crutches.” She repeated, trying to get up hysterically. 

The man bit his lip, raising her crutches from the pavement and holding them in one hand. “I'll take you across a few streets.” He said shaking his head. “I just want to help, you can't do it alone!” Finally, she looked into his eyes - shiny, begging blue irises stared at her as if they were looking through her soul. She took a trembling breath.

“You really want to save someone, don't you?” She asked a little sarcastically. He just shrugged his shoulders, finally taking her in his arms like a bride and walking slowly forward. She was moaning when he did it. “All right. When you've had enough, say, I'll go alone.” 

“It's not about whether I've had enough.” He whispered quietly, looking ahead. “I promised my girlfriend I wouldn't go far.”

She nodded her head without a word, looking tired and sad in the same direction as him. They were walking in the middle of the street, probably to be seen through some possible ambulance. She wanted to recommend him to walk on the sidewalk, but on the other hand, he helped her and she felt as if she still had no right to correct him in what he was doing. Thanks to him, she didn't have to bother with that long route alone. 

New York, despite everything, seemed beautiful to her. The moon illuminated some buildings and streets with white ribbons, being the only source of light. The lamps didn't work, and all she could hear was the man's hard steps and her uneven breath, which she tried to hide at all costs. The street of this town looked great and although Rachel wanted to cry, vomit or fall asleep, she couldn't help but admire the view. A few blocks away from them a fire truck propelled, not waking up the frightened people with its signal.

“You still have a wound on your leg. I don't know if you want to talk about it, but what happened to it?” He asked gently. She didn't look at him, but she bit her lip. 

“I don't know.” She answered. “Honestly, I have no idea what was going on in that tower. First, something exploded, I lost my hearing for a while, fainted and suddenly I appeared in some pharmacy, with the bandage done, completely alone, without any strength.”

The man's uptight. “You... You don't know what happened?” She turned her head, looking at his face. He walked straight, slow, so as not to move her too much. “There was an assassination.” He said, if possible, even quieter. 

Rachel swallowed her saliva loudly, immediately looking at the road ahead.

Assassination? Why, did someone do it? Was it a fucking joke?

“Assassination, huh?” She said poorly. 

“Let's not talk about it.” He said it quickly. “Maybe... where are you going?” She was surprised how he changed the subject, but as he helped her, she decided to answer honestly. 

“To my house, to my troubled friends. Grove Street.”

“Grove Street!?” he choked the air. Rachel, feeling tired, closed her eyes. “It's still a mile away!”

“I know.” She smiled a little. “Take me where you can, I'll manage later. I have managed so far.” 

“I'll... I'll take you to Downing.” He nodded. Rachel looked at him in surprise. 

“You don’t have to-“

“No, then you'll still have a lot of routes to go, that's the least I can do.” He interrupted her. “I'll give you water later.”

“Thank you.” She whispered. “Do you know what time it is?” 

“Before I heard you scream, it was a few minutes after two.”

Rachel just nodded her head a little. They spent the rest of their journey in silence until they missed Downing Street. Rachel, who was asleep in a man's arms, was forced to go down and take the crutches with the restrained scream of pain. “You okay? Are you sure you can handle it?” He asked. She nodded weakly. 

“Maybe... Maybe I should take you to the hospital?” He came out shy with a proposal. Rachel smiled as much as she could when she felt dizzy. She thanked him quietly and a minute later they split up. She was sure he sometimes turned his back on her, seeing if she was okay. She wasn’t, but luckily he didn't notice it in the dark. 

The pain from her leg radiated through her body. She felt it in her back, head, neck, and arms. Tears flew down her face as she literally stopped every few steps breathing deeply and shaking all over, hoping to get home. Monica would certainly kill her if she gave up now. 

She went much slower than before. Her movements were comparable to a slug, she wanted to vomit more with every step. At one point she actually leaned against the wall and started to do so with great pain, wiping out her tears with her bloody hand. She didn't feel any better.

She didn't even know how to describe the moment when she suddenly saw her apartment building. The windows were closed, the lights were not lit, it was still silent. But this time it seemed different. A huge dose of relief and new strength entered her as she entered through the open front door.

But then she had to face the stairs and Rachel immediately felt all new strength and joy go away. She stopped for a few minutes after each step. Her heart was beating even faster than before, she had to hold on a couple of times to what she wouldn't fall down, leaving bloody marks on the walls and floor. She swallowed her saliva when her eyes closed and her body slid down one of the walls.

_Don't faint until you're home._

So she went on, but she didn't think she'd lose consciousness. She was absolutely convinced that if she took a few more steps, she would die - not once did she feel so tragic today. The drugs stopped working even in the smallest amount, every cell of her body was hurting, and as soon as she took the next steps, her leg bend underneath her, pulling her whole body with it. 

She barely opened her eyes, every time she could resist anything. When she got to her floor, she checked her watch. Four-fifteen. 

_Don't **die** until you're home._

She took a step, and then another. Her heart was beating irregularly, shallow, fast breaths were quiet, crutches were dropped on the previous floor. She was shaking, walking next to the wall leaning against it and leaving a bloody trail on it.

Tears have fallen from her eyes again. She smiled at herself crying. She lost all her strength, her body collapsed under her weight when she rests her hand on the door handle. She literally fell in, taking one more crooked step forward and then fell on her face, unable to catch the slightest breath.

_Now you can faint, you can die._

Rachel heard a real scream like through a thick wall, she could hardly feel someone grabbing her shoulders and hugging her. However, she felt a familiar smell, the smell of the house, and although she did not have the strength to even smile, she enjoyed it. 

Her eyes remained closed when someone repeated her name, she did not object once when an ambulance was called, she did not even move a finger when someone moved her to her dream couch, and smooth hands stroke her head.

_Faint, die, you're already there._

Someone opened her mouth and pushed something in. She could barely hear anything, barely feel someone touching her, wiping her face, taking off her shoes. She didn't know how much time had passed before she heard the sincere, terrifying crying, one of the greatest people in her life. So she forced herself for the last time to lift her eyelids and smile at least. 

“Rachel, God...” Monica cried in front of her, sitting in front of the couch and touching her with all her hysterical, uncontrollable movements. “Rachel, please don't leave me! You're so strong, I can't do it without…”

“It's fine.” She was lying. Her whole body hurt her, she was constantly accompanied by the feeling of a death breath on her neck. There were tears in her eyes when she understood that. “I’m fine.”

With her last efforts, she raised her bloody hand to the woman's cheek, mushing her skin with her fingers. Bing started crying even harder, squeezing her hand. Chandler was lurking behind her, looking as nervous and sad as ever. She took her eyes on her little light in the tunnel, which was Monica. 

“Don't cry, please.” She whispered to her.

“Critical condition.” Someone said behind her. Only later did she notice a tube pinned to her wrist and heard a silent squeal from behind her head. Monica moaned loudly crying. Chandler moved, coming up to them quickly. He crouched near Monica, shaking his head nervously and biting his lip. She saw in his blue eyes a pain even greater than the one she was experiencing. 

And that guilt. It was so huge, so unimaginably large. And why? What did he do to feel guilty? After all, the last time she saw him was this morning, he wished her luck. So, what happened? Rachel sighing trembled, Monica crooked her face in silent agony, moaning something under her nose - something she could not understand. 

“Help her!” Chandler yelled. “Please, do something!” 

“Nothing can help her anymore.” A voice from behind her back answered. Monica let go of her numb hand, rubbing her own face out of tears. Chandler was looking at something with a shock. “What do you mean, nothing can help her!? Give her an injection, get her to a hospital, fight, damn it! Save her!”

People behind her back said something to them, but she had no idea what. Chandler got up quickly, walking behind the couch, Monica started crying even harder. And then Rachel understood.

_You're doing it. You're **dying**._

Her chest squeezed out of anxiety. She _was dying_. God, is this supposed to be the end? The end of these years, the end of her work, her hanging out with friends? She'll never have a family, will she? She took a trembling breath, closing her eyes. Almost immediately she felt her friend's fingers, cold and wet from tears. 

“Rachel, look at me.” She said hysterically. “Look at me. Don't close your eyes, sweetie.”

She opened her eyes - for her. She looked at Monica and tears came from her eyes. 

“Mon, you can handle it.” She whispered. 

“No, Rachel, please!” She screamed quietly, slapping her face. “You _won't_ leave me. You won't do this to me. I won't forgive you for doing this. Rachel, do you hear me?_** I **won't forgive you!_” She sobbed.

“Monica, you have to forgive me.” She asked quietly, barely shaking her head. The black hair bit her lip, there was fear in her eyes. “I will never leave you completely. Just... think I left.” She smiled gently. Monica put a hand on her head, stroking her hair. 

“Please don't do this to me.”

“Just think... that I went to Paris. I always wanted to be there, remember? I told you about it. As kids.”

“Rachel, please…”

The blonde felt weaker, weaker than before. She smiled again and closed her eyes. Feeling quite strong blows to her face and loud screams over her ear, she opened her eyes again.

_Come on, die. It's over. _

But she didn't want to die. She didn't want to leave her friends, her family. At this moment, in front of her eyes appeared Joey and Phoebe. She heard Chandler make a call, probably to Ross. She automatically felt a stew in her throat. She wanted to say goodbye to them, to everyone. 

“Rach…” Joey's voice was trembling, crying. 

Phoebe looked at her with grieving eyes full of bitterness and sorrow, guilt and fear. Rachel smiled gently at them. She heard Chandler screaming furiously like through a thick wall, then her head was turned sideways and something sharp was stuck in her neck. She closed her eyes and moaned, Monica whispered to her some words, she did not understand. 

She started slapping her face again, so she opened her eyes again. “Rachel, honey, look at us. You'll be fine.” She heard it, but she didn't know who said it. Phoebe? Monica? Joey? 

She felt as if something eclipsed her. Even though she didn't close her eyes, all she saw was black, the blood noise was rumbling in her head. She took a trembling breath, barely able to open her mouth. She felt some hands wiping her cheeks from tears. 

“Rachel, stay awake. Just stay awake.” She heard a hysterical voice. She tried to fulfill it, really, but after some time she didn't know if she had open or closed eyes. Actually, she didn't even know if she was breathing or not.

She felt a pinch in her neck, spreading to her body. She panicked, she was dying. She was really dying, now that she got here. After what she survived, after she tried, she was still dying. 

_You will be dead. No, you're **already** dead._

And she felt exactly as if it was her end. With her last strength, she raised her hand, not knowing where she was aiming it. A moment later, she felt someone's hair, she heard sobbing. After a few moves of her hand, she knew it was Monica. 

“Everything is fine.” She didn't know if she whispered those words or maybe shouted. She didn't feel it. She couldn't. 

“Rachel, please don't do this. Just a moment and everything will be-”

“Help her! I'll kill you if you don't do it!” She heard Chandler screaming exactly. However, she was no longer able to react, instead, she focused on the silky texture of Monica's hair. 

“The patient was seriously poisoned with carbon monoxide, we don't have any more masks, and there are no more in hospitals.”

She felt tears on her face. She knew it was her, although at the same time she didn't feel like she was crying. It scared her.

“Hey, guys. Remember that I love you.” She whispered. She heard Joey mumble something, probably starts crying again. Phoebe said something to her or Monica, but she didn't know what. She thought she heard Chandler's footsteps. She felt his hand, much bigger than Monica's, on her cheek. 

“Rachel, this is my fault. God, I'm sorry, it's all my fault…”

She turned her head, still seeing nothing. She tried to smile. “You didn't do anything wrong, Chan-Chan Man.” She tried to turn it all into a joke. Chandler did indeed snort under his nose, but it wasn't a funny snort. It was full of bitterness and despair. 

“It's my fault. Rachel, forgive me, please-”

The sentence broke in half when suddenly she felt her head squeezed strangely from the inside. She let the air out suddenly. She tried to breathe again, but something prevented her from doing so, she was too tired, her lungs did not want to work. She coughed up strangely, trying to catch air. But she really couldn't. 

“Rachel! Rachel, please, Rachel!” She heard a scream, maybe Joey’s. 

“Rachel, don't do this! I won't forgive you...” Monica's voice broke down. Rachel wanted to start breathing again, but she couldn't. Chandler yelled something loud, someone changed her position, raised her head. And although she felt a little better, she was still unable to breathe.

Uncontrollable tears rolled from her eyes, her hand, which had been in Monica's hair so far, slipped down disorderly. She heard various screams, mixing into one common roar, which she could not understand. She felt even weaker. She was hot and cold every second. 

_It was over._

The black spots in front of her eyes started blinking white to her, she didn't know what was happening, she was afraid. She wanted to say something, ask anything, but she couldn't. It felt like centuries had passed. 

But after a while, the voices started to fade, the black stopped flickering. She felt as if her body had lifted. No one touched her. And suddenly she calmed down. Everything calmed down, and Central Perk appeared again in front of her eyes. In it, her sisters, parents, friends. And it was quiet everywhere, nice.

She turned back. But there was nothing behind her. 

Is she dead? Is that what it looked like? She was standing in the middle of white space, Central Perk was in front of her. Her mother saw her, waved, smile at her, sitting right next to her father, drinking a drink from a cup. Something has captured her heart - they were happy, they were _together_. Her sisters didn't yell at each other, Gunther seemed to be nice to Ross. 

She stood there and looked at that glass. She didn't know what to do. She had the impression that by entering her dream, peaceful, _perfect_ building, she would seal her fate. But on the other hand, where would she go? There was white everywhere. Nothing around her, except this building.

She swallowed saliva. She took a step back. Then another. She turned around and started running into a white void. 

This dream, this building, was too perfect. She didn't want to be in it, she wanted to sit next to her friends and complain about work, she wanted to laugh at Gunther's serious, angry eyesight. She wanted to cry out to Chandler in the shoulder, while he would make her feel better with his nonsense. She wanted to get drunk with Monica and Phoebe. She wanted to kiss Ross. 

She ran for a few minutes, but she came across nothing. She turned back and saw Central Perk, a few meters away from her. Her mother smiled at her again. She looked at it with tears in her eyes.

She took a trembling breath. She couldn't get away. She really couldn't get away. She had to stay here. 

_She was dead. She was just dead._

She had no choice. She must have gone into that damn perfect place. And when she did, she felt that the door closed a little louder and faster than it always did. 

Without looking at the sides, without paying attention to Phoebe calling her, she went behind the counter, took the knife out of the cupboard and, without thinking, stuck it in her throat. Just like that. 

She was dead anyway.

And then she felt great pain in her neck, leg, head, and hands. She fell on the floor frozen, heard the roar again, felt someone throw her to the sides.

She opened her eyes poorly, Monica was sitting in front of her. All pale, with red cheeks and eyes, crying and twisting face in pain. “God, Rachel!” She heard. 

“It's a miracle! What the fuck?” Somebody yelled. She didn't know who. 

She had also no idea what was going on. She felt so overwhelmed, stressed and terrified at the same time that she barely understood how someone was changing her position again. She felt another needle stuck in her neck, but she couldn't react to it, instead, she was passing by with her eyes on every person she saw near her. She didn't understand. 

She was... Not dead? She was… _alive?_

She didn't know how much time had passed, but the paramedics, which she noticed from their uniforms, started to pack some equipment. Then they left, Chandler and Phoebe also quickly walked past her with some bag in their hands. Rachel was looking at it with a misunderstanding, moving her eyes to Monica crying next to her. She was smiling even though she was still red and her eyes showed fear. 

“Don't be afraid. We're going to the hospital, honey.” She whispered to her with a trembling voice. Rachel wanted to say something, but she quickly realized she didn't have the strength to say anything. She felt Monica's hand on her cheek, soothing her horror in some strange way.

A moment later, she was put on some stretcher. Her leg gave her dull pain again, just like her head. She squinted her eyes and crooked her face, almost immediately Monica grabbed her hand.

“You can't all go. The hospitals are already crowded.” She heard.

Monica almost immediately turned her head from her, looking at Chandler giving her a bag with some things. Rachel didn't even think about it. She couldn't really focus. 

“Go with her, Mon.” He whispered. “You have to be with her. I... I can't, I don't want...” She barely heard the last part of the sentence. She saw Monica freeze, she also felt strange, but she couldn't describe this feeling. Phoebe looked at them, so did Joey. 

“I'll call Ross.” Said black-haired, with a delicate smile on his face. He looked at her. “It's gonna be okay, Rach. We'll come to visit you.” 

Phoebe squeezed her hand and smiled at her too, leading them all the way to the ambulance. Rachel would gather to vomit every time she was moved more violently by the stretcher, but every time Monica stroke her hair gently, with a wide smile and tearful eyes.

She couldn't understand much, actually the only thing she was focusing on, or at least trying to focus, was not throwing up when the ambulance was rushing through the empty streets of New York.

Later, driving along the streets of the hospital, which, contrary to appearances, was not chaos, but only a building where could feel tension and haste, she tried to suppress her fear. She looked terrified when a drip was attached to her and she threw her head to the sides when doctors were trying to put on her mask. 

She didn't want a mask. She didn't want her life to depend on some stupid machine, let alone put her to sleep. She was scared. Tears appeared in her eyes, Monica, who had previously been asked to step back, approached her, trying to calm her down. Rachel felt the gaze of the other woman, who was a few meters away from her, lying on the bed. Some guy, maybe her husband, covered the curtain, separating them from her. The doctor tried to put her mask on again, but she threw her head to the side, moaning when she felt pain. 

“Rachel, please. You need to have a... Good air, I think.” Monica said quietly, crouching beside her and collecting tears from her cheeks. But she turned her head again and looked terrified at another doctor who unceremoniously grabbed her head, immobilizing her. 

She panicked. She tried to get away at all costs, she saw Monica's terrifying sight when she had to leave again. The pain started to radiate from her leg again, she moaned loudly and moaned until she started feeling weak. Two doctors held her arms and legs when she was throwing her whole body from side to side like a just-caught fish.

_Nightmare. An ordinary nightmare, maybe you'll wake up soon?_

__

__

_ Or you won't wake up at all?_

“We need to check if the wound on the leg is stitched properly. This hand doesn't look good either.” The doctor finished talking, waving his hand to some woman. Rachel turned her head scared, breathing in some weird mint air. She looked at Monika, unable to beg her for help, but she just started to stroke her hand with worry. 

Rachel pulled it out of the woman's grip with the last of her forces. Her heart was beating fast, she could feel it start spinning in her head. 

“Rachel, I'll be waiting for you. When you wake up, I'll be with you.” She looked at her tired and smashed. Fighting with herself, she kept her eyes open, or at least as long as these closed by themselves, leaving her no choice. She felt Monica's hand on her again. 

And she fell asleep. 

. 

When she came back to her consciousness, she didn't quite know what was going on and where she was. First, she heard some weird shit, then she felt something bothering her in both hands, leg and head. She was afraid to open her eyes, she was afraid that she would be again either in that horrifying white space or in the tower where she thought she would die. She opened her eyes gently, blinking them quickly.

It was completely dark in the room. She had to take a moment to get used to the darkness, but when she did, she quickly remembered where she was. The hospital. She was in the hospital, she didn't know why, after all, it wasn't so bad with her. 

She turned her head left and then right. There she noticed Monika leaning against the wall, sitting on the ground - she didn't know why there was no chair around her. Rachel swallowed saliva, looking back at the ceiling.

She _survived_. Somehow. 

She remembered how she felt this morning - excited, satisfied and full of hope for a fucking promotion. Now… Now she was empty. She didn't know how, but the fear evaporated, she reacted physically, but not mentally, to the memory of the tower she was in before. There were goosebumps on her skin, and there were tears in her eyes, but she felt… she felt absolutely nothing.

She was lying in silence for another minute. She didn't know what she was thinking about or what she could do. She may have wanted to wake up Monica, but she knew she had to rest, too. 

She had no idea if she slept even an hour today. 

So she looked into the ceiling, in silence, surrounded by darkness. She wasn't thinking about anything. She was just looking. She didn't even move a millimeter, didn't try to say anything. She was lying and even though she **was** alive, she **felt** dead.

It's probably been a few hours. She felt tired, her body wanted to change position, but she did not move. It was then that Monica yawned continuously and stretched her hands up, getting up slowly and reaching for a glass of water standing on a small table. Then she saw that she wasn't sleeping. 

“God, Rach!” She heard a silent scream. “God, how do you feel? Can I get you some water? I told you you'd be fine! Oh, God…”

Rachel has moved her tired eyesight on her. Monica became serious immediately, she grabbed her hand gently. Only now Rachel notices that she was all bandaged up. 

“It will be okay, Rachel. You are with us all, we will not leave you.” 

Rachel wasn't so sure it would be okay. 

_She **was** dead._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's over. It's my longest and most difficult project ever. And I had to translate it into English. I hope you enjoyed it. I would ask for some comments, anything - I don't know if I should write and translate anything else. I like to do it.  
If someone liked it and leaves a sign, I can come up with something new in the near future.  
Thank you for being here:)

**Author's Note:**

> I'd appreciate it if someone would comment on it :)


End file.
